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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."

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.

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”.

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!!!

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

The Bimbo

So here's my first ever online piece. Looking at it now, it's shockingly poorly done and I'm actually a little embarrassed! It was first posted over at Storysite.org way back in 2002... blimey... that makes me feel old! It does include some of the elements that I still love though - the protagonist out of control, wild overtly trashy transformation, vocal and vocabulary changes and, my favourite; 'academic humiliation'. 

I have no idea why that has always been such a turn on for me, but the idea of being forced to fail tests, or do poorly, or misspell things, or anything of that nature is just plain awesome-sauce. Yes friends, awesome-sauce. It's that good. Unlike this story. This story is pretty poor. You probably shouldn't read it. In terms of sauce, you're looking at the literary equivalent of that really cheap mayonnaise you sometimes get in pubs. Not awesome.

The Bimbo

by Sissy Emily (worst. alias. ever.)

  "Fucking faggot", I said as I barged Lee Garret over as he tried to tie his shoelace. My friends laughed as the slight, girlish looking boy went down onto the floor.

"I’m not gay" he said as he brushed a wave of long brown hair behind his ear, his voice seeming way to high and lilting for a guy of sixteen.

It was the last year of highschool and most of the year was now anxious to escape the confines of school and journey out into the wide world. I was no bully, but Lee deserved all he got, simply because he was so damn camp. He had always been so ever since the first year, quite short and quite slim, a very girlish frame really, with quite long brown hair parted in the centre that he was constantly playing with, twiddling it, or brushing it behind his ears. Even the way he walked and talked made him seem a complete fairy, mincing so his arse and hips swayed and wiggled like a girls and talking in a high breathy voice. This all added up to make him an obvious target for bullying. Everyone did it to him, pushing him over, or insulting him, but nothing ever really nasty. We all knew it really wound him up though and that made it a laugh.

"I’m really not gay" he repeated after receiving a look from one of my friends.

"Leave it out!" shouted another high voice. Looked behind me, and saw Emily, possibly the most desirable girl in the school. Blonde hair in a neat bob and a fantastic figure, about 36 inch hips, slowly curving into a 22 inch waist and then sensuously curving back out to a 36 chest with breasts at least a good C-cup. As well as this, she had legs to die for and soft kissable lips. Despite her obvious beauty, she did everything she could to hide it. School uniforms are not the most flattering clothes in the world but her long skirts and lack of make-up was simply her way of hiding her looks. She could be so hot if she wanted to be.

"…Can’t you just leave him alone, he hasn’t done anything to you" I snapped back to reality. Emily was now helping Lee up. At that point the bell rang signifying the end of lunch and the start of last lesson, Biology today. Me and my friends left, leaving Emily and Lee behind, thereby missing their conversation.

"Those arseholes!" cursed Emily, "Why do they always pick on you?"

"Cos they think I’m a puff" said Lee, "and they’re a bunch of homophobes"

"Are you?" asked Emily

"No!" protested Lee, a hurt look in his eyes

"Only asking" said Emily, "But all the same, how do you fancy getting revenge on them, or at least their ringleader?"

"Sure," said Lee, "but why would you want to help?"

"Didn’t you see the way the ogle me all the time, besides I like to help nice people out"

"Fine, we’ll get revenge together, but how?" asked Lee

"Can you keep a secret?" asked Emily

"Sure" replied Lee

"I’m a witch" she said.

  * * *

  Biology was boring as always. I don’t like to brag, but I had it all going for me. I was quite tall, quite athletic, short brown, almost black, hair and blue eyes that the girls loved. Further unlike most sporty types, I was quite clever too. Taking no less than thirteen GCSE’s and predicted A/A* in all of them. As such, most lessons were boring, except PE which was always a laugh. I was particularly good at rugby and was on the school team.

The lesson past quickly and I left to catch the bus home. I lived in quite a nice area with my Mum. I had an older sister, who although still had a room in our house was currently at university so we only saw her at the holidays. My Mum was a full time worker and as such, I rarely saw during the week at all. Still, it did not bother me, I could always just go out with friends. Once home I did my homework, had a quick sandwich for dinner then watched TV to around 11:00, at which point I went to bed. It was that night that Lee and Emily the witch, something I was not aware of, started their revenge.

The next morning, my alarm woke me early as usual, but something felt different that I couldn’t put my finger on. From my Mum’s open bedroom door, I could tell she’d been home and left again in a hurry to her second job. I began my daily routine the same as always, starting with a shower. It was then that the first weird thing happened. As I was showering, without thinking, I reached for a bottle containing a pink liquid with the word "Nair" on it that I knew was my Mum’s. I then proceeded to cover myself with the contents then watched as all my body hair came away. I now stood under the shower, shocked at what I’d just done. I was completely hairless, except for that on my head. I then noticed that my little sissy-clitty was trying to grow but was much smaller than usual. Sissy-Clitty! Where the fuck did that come from?!? What I did next was even weirder. I walked to my sister’s room and opened the drawers. From them I took a tampon, a sanitary towel and a matching black g-string and padded bra set. I then proceeded to bend over and force the tampon up my own arse. It looked ridiculous, I could see the string coming down between my legs. I then pulled the black nylon g-string up my smooth legs, and pulled it tightly up my anus. I placed the sanitary towel in the sexy panties and then finally put on the bra, the padding causing me to appear to have some figure. My mind was screaming at me to stop, but my body wouldn’t obey me. I looked at the clock, and discovered I was already late. At that I quickly went to my own room to finish dressing in my own uniform, tie, shirt, blazer and trousers, the latter strangely seemed very tight around my bum and hips. The bra was very obvious through my white shirt, but my body wouldn’t let me do anything about it. I knew I had already missed the bus so I walked to school, but still something seemed different. If I had seen myself walking I would have seen an obvious faggot walking like a girl, swaying my hips and wiggling my bum.

I made good time and by the time I arrived, the register was just about to reach my name. I sat down quietly trying not to be noticed.

"Craig Smith" called the teacher

"Here sir" replied Craig

"Lee Garret"

"Here sir" he said his voice still high and breathy

"Emily Rivers"

"Here sir" Emily looked at me as she spoke, and flashed me a very evil looking smile.

"Bambi Bigtits"

"Here Sir!" I practically shouted my voice high pitched and soft, like a sexy bimbo girl’s. Wait that’s not my name! I thought, but as I concentrated that’s the only name my mind came up with. Bambi Bigtits. This was really starting to freak me out now, what was happening? I became quite red and waited for the end of registration. When it came, I minced out of the room, now quite aware of the way I was walking, my hips swaying, and my bum wiggling in my now ridiculously tight trousers. It’s a good job I wore a g-string in such tight trousers I thought only then to thinkWhy am I thinking like that?!?

Before I realised it, I’d come to a room. This wasn’t my class I thought as I walked in, this is a much lower set than I’m in… For some reason I’d gone to a class that in my opinion was for retards, yet here I was, sitting at a vacant desk as if I was meant to be there. The class took far longer to settle than I was used to, but once it had, the teacher took another register, myself once again responding to the name Bambi Bigtits in a breathy feminine voice. The lesson was maths and simple maths at that. Despite this, I found myself unable to do the simplest of the work set, despite my knowledge that I would usually do pieces as simple as 2x2 with the greatest of ease. This worried me but my body refused to allow me to show it, my only features being the chewing on the end of my pencil, no wait it was more sucking and the occasional pout of my lips. Were they bigger than usual? If I’d looked around, I’d have seen every guy in the room staring at me with lust. A tress of long blonde hair fell across my eyes. I brushed it aside, a decidedly feminine gesture. Wait a sec, my hair isn’t blonde or long! The bell went before I could dwell on that and I minced out to the hall. There I saw Lee and suddenly had the strangest urge to suck his cock. My mind was only filled with images of me on my knees sucking his cock. Before I knew what I was doing, that was exactly the position I was in, unzipping his flies with me teeth. People stared as I took his 9 inches in my mouth but I could do nothing to stop myself. I deep throated his cock, savouring the taste as if it were nectar. He moaned slightly but I found myself moaning and groaning like a bitch in heat, loudly and enthusiastically. He came in my mouth and I swallowed it all before standing and mincing down the hall. I then went straight to the ladies room.

To my surprise, when I wiggled in Emily was waiting inside as if she knew I was coming.

"That’s a nice sexy wiggle you’ve got there" she said

"Thanks!" I gushed breathlessly, "I hope all the cute guys notice" It was at this point I realised I had really no control and resigned myself to my fate.

"However," continued Emily "you’d look so much cuter in a nice short skirt"

"Do you really think so?" I gushed

"Yes," said Emily condescendingly, "and that’s just what I have here" she smiled as she handed me the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen, a small black pleated uniform skirt, but only one or two inches in length, more of a belt really. I took it in my hands, now noticing how small and feminine they were, each finger with a two inch long bright red nail. I wriggled out of my now tight trousers and pulled up the short skirt, knowing it barely covered my g-string covered arse, now bigger and girlish. Further, the skirt now rode out on my far wider hips.

"Like your new hips and cute little bum there?" asked Emily, "the hips are now a good 38 inches around. Very sexy. But you know those guys shoes just don’t go with the outfit" At that she handed me a pair of very sexy looking heels, black and strappy, the heels at least 6 inches tall. I anxiously put them on noticing how my feet now appeared far smaller and daintier, the nails painted a matching red to my fingernails. Despite the additional 6 inches of height, I found that suddenly shorter than Emily. She then proceeded to tell me that my guys shirt also needed to be changed, at which point she gave me a tight lycra blouse that hugged my now obvious breasts. I then, again against my will, tied it at the bottom, making it a crop-top and exposing my belly. It was white so showed off my black padded bra, the padding no longer really necessary, my breasts seeming to have grown to at least a D-cup, made to look even bigger by the bra. Further the nipples were now bigger and stood prominently through the material. Finally I opened the two top buttons to show off plenty of cleavage.

"God you look so hot now" said Emily "all the guys are gonna want to fuck you, but they’ll have to settle for blow jobs and anal sex as I think you should keep your sissy-clitty to remind of who you were, but it will be the smallest little pee-pee in the whole world, less than an inch erect, and only cute guys will make it so. One more thing though, my blonde bimbo Bambi, a slut like you should always wear full makeup. At that point, I went to one of the mirrors above the sink and began to apply the makeup Emily handed me. Instead of my reflection though, I saw a total slut. A sexy bimbo with long blonde hair, big blue eyes with long dark lashes, and sultry eyeshadow. The cheek bones were high and highlighted with a sexy blush and the lips were bright red, moist and kissable. Nice and big for the perfect blowjob. A tight sexy boob hugging blouse, low cut showing plenty of tit and the obvious nipples and sexy black bra. An exposed belly and super short skirt, showing off a sexy little bum and black g-string, going down long smooth legs to tight sexy high heels.

I was every guys wet dream.

"Now you look about ready Bambi Bigtits. But before you go you should know some more about yourself. You’re a straight girl so only cocks for you, but your not picky and will have any guy. You can only talk about girlish things and you hate all sorts except netball, aerobics and dance. You will only use terms such as boobs, tits, hooters and jugs to talk bout your breasts. You will always walk, talk and act like a total slut. Finally you should know Bambi Bigtits, I’m behind your lovely little transformation, a little thankyou for your constant arrogance and for pushing Lee about. Oh, by the way from now on your gonna be his bitch. However, that doesn’t mean he won’t be willing to share you, you sexy little bit of crumpet. Kind of ironic, you always oggled me and now every guy in the world can oggle you!" Emily laughed. "Now say thank you, blow me a kiss and leave bimbo Bambi."

At her command I blew a kiss, and said in a ridiculously fem voice "Thank you", before mincing back out in my new outfit to begin my new life.

  * * *

  The headmaster looked out from his office window as the students came into school. One caught his eye, Bambi Bigtits, quite possibly the worst student in the school, a failure in all subjects, a true bimbo. A sex obsessive and she never obeyed the uniform policy. Just look at her now as she wiggled that sexy arse into school. A short black skirt that rode high up her legs to show off her peach arse and red lacy thong. Her stocking tops were also clearly visible below the skirt hem. Her shoes had to be at least 7 inches, how could she walk in them. Her blouse was low cut and quite see through, super tight. Beneath it a lacy corset could be seen. It whittled her waste down to around 18 inches. Her hips were made more dramatic, at least 40 inches, and her breasts, gravity defying 42 inch D-cups. Her blouse showed plenty of them. Her hair was long and platinum blonde, coming down to that sexy butt. Her makeup was daring, dark, large eyes with dark eye-shadow, eyeliner and mascara making the lashes even longer than they were. Her nose was petite and lips were a bright red, large and perfect for a blowjob. Finally, her cheek bones were high and covered in a nice rouge that created a permanent blushing embarrassment look. Very desirable. But not the uniform, she would certainly have to be expelled, but if only she didn’t give such great blowjobs……

  * * *

  Bambi minced into school, God she was so hot. Lee stood there.

"Hey honey!" she said as she saw him.

"Hey, give me some sugar" he replied and she happily obliged, with a french kiss and then at the same time felt for the bulge in his trousers. Yes, he was ready. She knelt down and then opening, his flies with her teeth, took out his now rigid member and sucked his cock, making more moaning noises than anything else. She seemed very happy.

"Hey!" said one of the teachers who walked up just as Bambi finished her little job.

"Bambi Bigtits! This is disgraceful, report to my office immediately!"

Bambi then wiggled dejectedly, to the mans office. Once there she turned to him.

"I’m sorry sir, but…"

"Shut up slut," said the teacher as he locked the door, "now hike up that nice little skirt and bend over my desk, show me that sweet little peach arse." He began to unzip his flies.

"Yes Sir, thank you sir." Said Bambi breathily ands sexily. And she meant it……

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

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!