The Casket of Ancient Summers

When Master said he could turn me into a bimbo i was like “lol, ya right!” But he like, insit… insisit… um, kept saying it was true! So i told him to prove it. And he was like “no, only if you’re serious”, and i was like “i am!” An’ i totally was, cuz i used ta be super boring and serious about, like, everything, all the time. i know, right? i can hardly believe it either.

So we talked about it for, like, a suuuuper long time. Cuz Master wanted to be sure i was doing it of my own, like, free will or whatever. And i was all sarcasta-whatever, y'know, all like snotty and smarty-pants-ish about it, cuz i didn’t think he could do it. An’ he made me write some stuff, which was super boring, cuz reading and words and stuff are soooo lame.

But then he did this thing, where he just talked for a while, and his voice was all soft and sexy an’ i just kinda fell asleep! An Master talked to me while i was asleep, except i wasn’t asleep, not really, i was in a hip-not-tick trance! Master taught me that word. An while i was in the trance thingy, i could hear what he was saying, an’ it was all, like… true! Like, he was sayin’ stuff that wasn’t true, but when he said it, my brain was all like “ohmigawd, i never thought of that, that’s so smart!” An’ my brain would, like, change or whatever, as soon as it heard what Master said! Don’t worry, it was super confusing for me, too.

Anyway! i’m like, a super bimbo now. An’ i love it, an’ Master loves it! But today he gave me this paper, an’ he said i had to read it. An’ i got super pouty, because reading is soooo hard, and boring, an’ i hate it! But Master said it was important, so I was like “ick, okay…” cuz it’s super important to do what Master says.

So i read the dumb ol’ paper, and it had a ton of lame words on it. It was super hard to figure out at first, but i got it even… evenchoo… after a long time. Anyway, this is what it said!

Dear future me (bimbo me?),

I hope that you’re happy. I’m letting David try this bimbo-hypnosis thing he’s been going on about. I didn’t believe such a thing was actually possible, but he’s been very serious about it. He’s insisting I write this letter as some sort of fail-safe - that way if I (you) want out, or he abuses his ‘power’ in some way, there’s a way to snap out of it. Seriously, I think he’s making too much of something that’s not going to do anything.

I do have to admit, however: I hope it works. Maybe not permanently, of course, but… well, it sounds nice. Being a bimbo. Being pretty and simple. Doing as I’m told. Letting David just be in charge. He’s a sweet man and a wonderful husband, I’m sure he’d be a good… well, owner, I suppose.

Anyway, potential-bimbo-Sarah-of-the-future, here’s what you do. It’s a simple phrase. Say it aloud three times and all the bimbo programming will vanish. So if you’re unhappy, or if you think David’s been mistreating you, or even if you just, I don’t know, want a break, say this phrase. Remember, three times. Got it? Good. Here it is:-

i stopped reading there. i figured out what it was saying - it was gonna make me, like, be a not-bimbo again! Why would i ever wanna do that? It was the craziest thing i ever heard. i grabbed the stupid paper and crumpled it up, and tossed it right in the trash.

That’s what she should do.

Just turn around and leave.

Now.

She stared through the window some more, sweat clinging to her skin. The neon hurt her eyes. She found it hard to see, especially since she’d stopped wearing her glasses. They didn’t fit her look anymore, so she didn’t bother wearing them. Reading wasn’t that important, after all.

She tried to turn around and walk away. Nothing happened.

Carol thought back. Was this the fourth night in a row that she’d been here? Fifth, maybe? Every time, it was the same thing. The woman read her palms. The first night, it was pretty innocuous - at least, it seemed that way at first. Something about upcoming adventure, big changes in life, a new direction. Carol assumed everybody got more or less the same spiel. 

She woke up the next morning and, for no reason she could identify, decided to wear her tightest skirt to work.

She went out that night, getting drinks with some of her coworkers once the office closed down. Once she left the bar, tipsy and a bit disoriented, she barely notice that she was headed back to this same window again. It wasn’t until she walked in the door that she became aware of where she was. It was like being in a trance.

The woman’s predictions were much the same, but slightly different in tone. She was going to find passion and thrills in unexpected places. She was undergoing a personal transformation. She was going to learn new things about herself.

Carol lost track of the next couple of days. She felt slightly hungover in the morning, so she called in sick. She went to the mall instead of working. She got a makeover. When she was out to lunch, some guy bought her a drink. She wound up sucking his cock in a men’s room stall. The next day - or maybe that evening? Carol had lost track - some guy catcalled her while she was standing on the sidewalk, waiting for a bus. He thinks I’m a whore, she realized slowly. She waited for the expected feelings to rise up: outrage, embarrassment, anger. They didn’t come. Instead, she was vaguely flattered, and very aroused. She played with her hair as she got in his car.

In between, she came back here at least once or twice. Every time, being told the same thing. You’re changing, evolving, becoming someone new. Breaking out of your cocoon. The old you is fading away, someone new and exciting and enticing in her place. Carol found herself simply nodding along to the woman’s words. It was all true, clearly. Carol didn’t know who she was anymore, but her old self just felt… irrelevant.

So: tonight. She stood out in the humid air, the street smelling like sweat and exhaust. She pressed one palm against the cool glass, staring between the neon letters. She knew that she couldn’t do this many more times before something irreversible happened. On one of these visits, the woman was going to stop playing around and simply tell Carol that she was a whore now, a witless sex addict with no willpower. Carol quivered at the thought. She wanted to hear that, she found. It was already what she was, after all. She knew that. But hearing it, having it become real… god, that just sounded so… so…

"You see, it’s a simple problem of resource management."

Mr. Grossman looked around the room, at the assembled staff before him. Mostly secretaries, some middle managers, and even two department heads. The one thing they all had in common was the fact that they were all beautiful women.

"Efficiency is a core issue for any large corporation these days, so we try to reduce redundancies anywhere that’s possible."

They were all staring at him. Many were quite glassy-eyed by now. A few were even slack-jawed. One - Mariah, he believed her name was - seemed to be trying to turn her head away from him, physically resisting the urge to simply sit and stare and soak up his words. She wasn’t succeeding.

"Everyone needs a particular role, and everyone needs to know their place within the organization."

They’d all sat in this room for about half an hour before Mr. Grossman entered. Unknowingly, they’d breathed in a strong mix of sedatives, hypnotics, and other assorted aerosol chemicals. They were half-entranced before he ever opened the door.

"Some of us - like myself - are leaders, while others of us - like you - are followers."

A few heads bobbed in soft, docile nods. Most of them just continued staring. Kathryn, one of the higher-ranking women in the room, was frowning, but even she had a look in her eyes that betrayed how lost and confused she felt. Her displeasure was knee-jerk, reactionary, and it was fading.

"To reduce unnecessary effort and strain, from now on, all of your thinking will be done for you, by a supervisor or manager."

Was that relief that showed on some of their faces? Did they seem happy about this news? They should. At this point, the struggle of thinking clearly for themselves must have seemed insurmountable.

"Your thoughts, ideas, and opinions will be supplied for you, so you can put all of your energy into the duties of your job."

Mr. Grossman looked at Kathryn again. Her frown had faded, leaving her with a blank, receptive look on her face. Perfect. He didn’t spot any more signs of resistance from the rest of the women.

"Most of you will be reassigned to new, specially created positions directly attending to some of the highest ranking members of the company, such as myself."

Some eyes widened at that. The privilege of working directly for a CFO, a VP, an executive board member - who could turn that down? All of them wanted to climb the ladder here, and Mr. Grossman was giving them a golden opportunity.

"Of course, you’ll be expected to go above and beyond, providing any and all services your new boss requires."

Heads bobbed all over the room, like a chorus of puppets. 

"Now, if you’ll all just wait here a moment, I’ll return shortly with your new assignments."

There were six of them in the house, and everyone was on a different schedule. At all times there was somebody coming or going, just getting in or just heading out, walking in the door after work or walking out the door to head to a party.

So it wasn’t really clear who was finding the time to do all this baking.

Every day, though, there was something. It had been a plate of cinnamon rolls first. Karen had spotted them when she got up to head to the gym, around 5:45. They were sitting on the kitchen table, still nice and warm. A little note sat next to them:

"Enjoy! :)"

She ate two. They were incredible.

The next day, when Eliza got home from her last lecture of the evening, there was a blueberry pie sitting on the counter. Same note. Again, looking like it was fresh out of the oven. She’d missed dinner, so as soon as she saw it her mouth was watering. She was halfway through her first piece before she thought to wonder who it was that actually made it.

Janet and Brianna were doing a weekend shopping spree, but decided to swing by the house and grab some lunch. Nobody was home, but there was a loaf of banana bread waiting for them when they got there. Between the two of them, they ate the whole thing. They couldn’t stop themselves.

Tess found a plate of chocolate chip cookies waiting for her when she left for work on Tuesday. She tossed a few of them into a ziploc bag and headed out. She ate them at lunch. They were so good she could barely focus on work for the rest of the day.

That night, when Helen came downstairs for a midnight snack, she found cupcakes waiting for her, ready to be eaten. Nothing had ever tasted as good as those cupcakes did. She ate four, one after another, scooping up bits of frosting with her finger and then licking it clean. It felt almost sensual.

As it kept happening all week, they started asking one another where the food was coming from. Everyone assumed it was one of the others. They never managed to get the whole group together at the same time, though, so it was confusing. Plus, whenever they stopped to discuss it, there always seemed to be some new baked good waiting for them. Any conversation quickly dissolved into nothing but enthusiastic mmms, the sounds of chewing, and satisfied eye rolls.

And then suddenly, one day, a bit more.

Brianna and Helen were trying to determine where the delicious platter of cream puffs had come from - did Eliza make them last night? No, she wouldn’t have had time… maybe it was Tess, early this morning? - and, of course, wound up eating them all. They were unbelievable. Seriously, the best yet.

And then, as they were both sitting there in a pleasant post-snack daze, Helen kissed Brianna.

She didn’t think about it. It was just like eating the baked goods - they were there, they looked tasty, so they ate them. Brianna was there, she looked good, so Helen kissed her. It felt amazing. She could taste the sugar on Brianna’s lips.

Brianna, for her part, didn’t resist it. It felt like it was completely natural. Suddenly she realized she’d been daydreaming about her roommates for a few days. Eliza’s cute little upturned nose and adorable dimples. Karen’s tight, toned body, with an ass you could bounce a quarter of. Tess and Janet, so different - Tess tall and angular, Janet short and curvy. Tess was like an amazon or a Grecian statue. Janet was five feet of tits and hips.

And Helen. Helen, right now, was a goddess. With their lips together, Brianna couldn’t fathom why she hadn’t sworn off men and declared herself to be Helen’s devoted sex slave they day they met. If she knew how good kissing her would feel, she would have.

Their shirts were off. They pressed against each other, breasts crushed against breast. Skin on skin. Neither of them could speak, they just whimpered. Two sets of hands explored desperately, touching every square inch of each other.

When Tess came home, she found them on the living room floor, tongues buried in each other’s cunts. She stared, rooted to the spot, eyes wide. She could still taste the brownie she’d eaten last night. The thought of that pushed her over the edge. She tore off her clothes, dropping to the floor to join them. They welcomed her with open arms. And legs. And mouths.

One by one, all of them came home. They all had the same experience - surprise, need, release. It was well after midnight by the time the six of them broke apart, lying draped on furniture or simply on the floor, beaded with sweat and panting. Everything had changed. None of them quite knew what came over them, but they were all certain they’d never go back.

They never did find out who baked all that stuff for them. Then again, by that point, nobody cared.

It started happening about a month ago. She didn’t notice right away. In fact, she was most of the way through the day before she realized she didn’t remember any of the state capitals. Not one.

She was driving down the highway when a car with a Texas license plate pulled in front of her. Her mind was wandering, as it often was when she was driving, and she asked herself what the capital of Texas was. No answer came.

C’mon, I must know this, she thought. There’s Dallas, Austin, Houston… must be one of those, right? Maybe El Paso? No, that’s not it.

She had to admit before long that she simply didn’t know. That was a little embarrassing, but really, it was just a bit of trivia. Who cared?

Then she realized she couldn’t recall the capital of Montana, either. Or Kentucky, or South Dakota. Or Oregon, and she lived in Oregon.

Mona went on google when she got home, looking up all of them. The information wouldn’t stick, though. She’d read them, commit them to memory, and realize fifteen minutes later they were gone again.

The next day, everything seemed fine. Mona never realized anything had changed. Had somebody asked her to calculate the area of a circle, she would have been shocked to realize she had no idea what any of the digits of pi were any longer. However, that didn’t come up, so she assumed things were back to normal.

The rest of the week continued that way. Mona forgot the name of the first US President, how many quarts are in a gallon, and the name of the make and model of the car she drove. She found herself unable to recall the order of operations for basic math problems, and realized that the name of her favorite author had dropped out of her head.

It was around this time that she began getting frightened. She woke up every morning and tried to run through important facts, making sure nothing was missing. The hard part, however, was that she didn’t know what to look for. How can you figure out what you don’t know anymore? How do you determine what’s missing?

She went out for drinks with some friends after work one night, hoping to get her mind off of the whole situation. She wound up going home with a slightly sleazy guy she met at the bar. They fucked all night long, in positions that Mona had never even heard of. Her friends gossiped about it, but she didn’t give it a second thought. She’d completely forgotten that she wasn’t a slut.

She began making lists. Writing down important facts. Many of them didn’t make sense when she looked at them later. One morning, for example, she had no idea why she’d written down “Mom: 4/17/1956. Dad: 11/9/1953”. What could that even refer to? Deciding it wasn’t important, she threw it out.

Three days ago, she decided it was time to get professional help. She started looking for psychiatrists in the area. Maybe someone would be able to help, somebody with a background in memory loss.

This morning, though, Mona woke up feeling better than she had in ages. She thought about the prospect of talking to some sort of shrink, and it seemed ridiculous. So she was forgetting things - big deal! She knew tons of stuff. Who cares if a few things get left behind? She didn’t need to be smart, after all. It wasn’t an issue worth worrying about.

She’d completely forgotten to be frightened anymore.

I came home to find her here, just like this. Lying on my couch, clutching her head. Her legs pressed together, slowly gliding back and forth. The look on her face fluctuated back and forth, somewhere between pleasure and pain. I’d never seen her before in my life.

"Excuse me," I said, standing over her. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes fluttered open. She looked up at me, upside-down, her lips parted and her eyes unfocused. “Pleeeeaaase…” she said, the word somewhere between a sigh and a moan. It was the single most erotic thing I’d ever heard.

I swallowed hard. Tried to, at least. My mouth had gone very dry. “What do you need?” I managed to ask.

"They… they’re looking for me. I need to hide. I need to obey. Ohhhh, god," she gasped, suddenly clenching her thighs together. "Obey. Obeyyy…" Her eyes seemed to go blank again, and her hand slid down her stomach, heading towards the space between her legs, and-

She froze, body stiffening. “No! No, I… oh, god, I can’t stop, I need to run, to hide, I… god, please, help me!”

Then she whimpered slightly, her eyelids fluttered, and she seemed to lose track of where she was. She sighed, quiet and soft, and closed her eyes.

What the fuck?

"What’s your name?" I asked her, unable to think of anything more reasonable.

"Slave," she said, then paused. "I don’t know. I don’t remember. They took it from me." She paused, eyes unfocused, staring off into the middle distance. "My name is slave…" she said. The intonation was odd, like she was reciting something.

I had the distinct feeling I was in way over my head. Somebody had done something seriously fucked up to this girl. I could only assume that anybody with the resources to do this kind of thing wouldn’t take kindly to losing her. I didn’t really want to get in the way of somebody like that, did I?

On the other hand, what was I going to do - turn her in? To who? And even if I figured that out… well, could I live with myself?

She interrupted my moral dilemma by rolling over, crawling across the couch towards me, and leaning over the arm. She reached out, grabbing hold of my thigh. “Please,” she said. “I need to obey…” The light in her eyes seemed to have gone out a bit. Her hips were pumping back and forth, very slowly. Her lips were parted and her cheeks were flushed.

"Take off your shirt," I rasped.

She literally whimpered with pleasure as she did as I told her. She tugged it up over her head, her hair spilling down around her naked breasts as she dropped the shirt to the floor, discarded and forgotten. She gazed back up at me, eyes wide and adoring. I got so hard so fast that I felt dizzy.

All my ethical back-and-forth from a minute ago vanished. I slid my hand into her hair. “Open your mouth,” I said, and the girl - slave - obeyed. I fumbled with my belt for a second - my hand was shaking - but managed to get my cock out. I slid it into her waiting mouth.

I came in seconds. I’d never been this turned on before, and she sucked me off better than I even knew was possible. I’d had blowjobs before, obviously, but none of them - dutiful girlfriends or drunken hookups - were anything like this. This girl sucked my cock like she was born to do it. She blew me like she was thankful for it, like I was bestowing some sort of gift on her. She swallowed eagerly, licked me clean, and stared up at me, waiting for more.

It wasn’t until about half an hour later, when my cock was buried in her ass, that I thought again about the people who made her this way, and what they’d think about me using her this way.

"Ohhhh god yes, please, please, fuck your slave harder," she begged as I thrust into her again.

I decided I’d worry about all that later.

You can see this, can’t you?

Not everybody can. Most people have already scrolled past. They didn’t even notice there was text here. They’re on to the next picture, and the next, and the next. They’ve got no idea that this was here.

But you stopped. Your eyes caught on these words. Your brain was snagged, like it was on a fishhook. And you’re stuck here now.

Go ahead and look at the picture again. She’s pretty, isn’t she?

And just like that you’re back here again, reading. Isn’t it funny how you kind of can’t help but read words? You look at them, and they’re nothing but letters - just little shapes that we’ve given meaning to, put in a certain order. And when you look at them, meaning comes to life in your mind. Ideas enter your brain.

Whether you like it or not.

You can’t really do anything about it. You could stop reading, sure. Of course. But you aren’t going to. We both know that already. You started, after all. You’re the sort of person who reads this. Who wants their brain to be filled with this kind of thing. 

So you’re just going to sit there and keep reading. You’re powerless to stop, really. Why don’t you go ahead and say that for me - “I’m powerless”.

Go ahead, out loud. Once more.

Feels good, doesn’t it? I know it does.

So here we are. You’re stuck, eyes working their way down, soaking up whatever’s here to be soaked up. That’s the other fun thing about words - you can’t prepare for them, or know what’s coming. The only way to know what information they contain is to read them. And once you read them, the information’s already in your brain. You’re infected with it, whatever it is.

You’re a brainless, obedient bimbo.

See that? See how simple it is? 

Of course, just reading it doesn’t make it true. It’s in your head, sure. Maybe you’ll just flush it out, though. Maybe you’re strong-willed, and hearing something doesn’t make it bounce around your mind, rattling and echoing and distracting you from all your other thoughts. Maybe it doesn’t fill your mind with how obviously, incontrovertibly true it is. Maybe you’re too smart for that.

Maybe not, though.

Test it out. Say “I’m a brainless, obedient bimbo.”

Again.

Louder.

How does that feel? 

I think it’s pretty obvious - if you’re the type of girl who’ll repeat that out loud just because she’s told to… well, maybe you’re saying something true, hmm? That would explain why you’re so wet right now, wouldn’t it?

Don’t act so surprised. It’s obvious. Go ahead and touch yourself.

Very good. There’s a good bimbo.

Why don’t you say that phrase for me again. “I’m a brainless, obedient bimbo.” Say it while you tease your clit. No coming - just touch. Touch and repeat.

That’s good. A little louder.

Like you mean it.

Very good! Keep repeating. 

I’ll tell you when you can stop.

You can see this, can’t you?

Not everybody can. Most people have already scrolled past. They didn’t even notice there was text here. They’re on to the next picture, and the next, and the next. They’ve got no idea that this was here.

But you stopped. Your eyes caught on these words. Your brain was snagged, like it was on a fishhook. And you’re stuck here now.

Go ahead and look at the picture again. She’s pretty, isn’t she?

And just like that you’re back here again, reading. Isn’t it funny how you kind of can’t help but read words? You look at them, and they’re nothing but letters - just little shapes that we’ve given meaning to, put in a certain order. And when you look at them, meaning comes to life in your mind. Ideas enter your brain.

Whether you like it or not.

You can’t really do anything about it. You could stop reading, sure. Of course. But you aren’t going to. We both know that already. You started, after all. You’re the sort of person who reads this. Who wants their brain to be filled with this kind of thing. 

So you’re just going to sit there and keep reading. You’re powerless to stop, really. Why don’t you go ahead and say that for me - “I’m powerless”.

Go ahead, out loud. Once more.

Feels good, doesn’t it? I know it does.

So here we are. You’re stuck, eyes working their way down, soaking up whatever’s here to be soaked up. That’s the other fun thing about words - you can’t prepare for them, or know what’s coming. The only way to know what information they contain is to read them. And once you read them, the information’s already in your brain. You’re infected with it, whatever it is.

You’re a brainless, obedient bimbo.

See that? See how simple it is? 

Of course, just reading it doesn’t make it true. It’s in your head, sure. Maybe you’ll just flush it out, though. Maybe you’re strong-willed, and hearing something doesn’t make it bounce around your mind, rattling and echoing and distracting you from all your other thoughts. Maybe it doesn’t fill your mind with how obviously, incontrovertibly true it is. Maybe you’re too smart for that.

Maybe not, though.

Test it out. Say “I’m a brainless, obedient bimbo.”

Again.

Louder.

How does that feel? 

I think it’s pretty obvious - if you’re the type of girl who’ll repeat that out loud just because she’s told to… well, maybe you’re saying something true, hmm? That would explain why you’re so wet right now, wouldn’t it?

Don’t act so surprised. It’s obvious. Go ahead and touch yourself.

Very good. There’s a good bimbo.

Why don’t you say that phrase for me again. “I’m a brainless, obedient bimbo.” Say it while you tease your clit. No coming - just touch. Touch and repeat.

That’s good. A little louder.

Like you mean it.

Very good! Keep repeating. 

I’ll tell you when you can stop.

They’d always been pretty similar. Denise was more a math-and-science geek, whereas Melissa was more into foreign literature and poetry. But they both spent almost all their free time alone, at home, reading or studying. Neither of them had much fashion sense, and both claimed to not be interested at all. Neither was much to look at - Denise was sort of plain and forgettable, and Melissa seemed to make an effort to hide herself behind thick glasses and shapeless clothes.

Honestly, Ted was only interested in Melissa at first. They’d had a class on 17th-Century French Lit together, and he’d become sort of obsessed by her. She was exactly what he needed. She was perfect. She took to the early subliminals perfectly - smiling more, being happier, finding herself more eager to laugh and talk to people. Generally just being more outgoing and confident. 

The strange thing was, Denise started doing the same things. Ted was nearly certain that there wasn’t any cross-contamination - Denise couldn’t have been getting the subliminals too. She must have just been following her roommate’s lead, or something. It was strange.

After that, things sped up way beyond what Ted had expected. All of a sudden Melissa was coming to class in skirts and heels. Denise was the first one to dye her hair, and a couple of days later, Melissa followed suit. Ted was still a week away from that suggestion in his initial schedule of subliminals. 

He decided to play it by ear a little bit, let things roll and see what happens. He’d pipe some new messages into their apartment every so often - no longer trying to just isolate Melissa. Both girls soaked them up eagerly, and ran with them well beyond his expectations. Anything one did, the other was eager to emulate. They did their makeup the same. They dressed the same. They giggled the same.

They sucked cock the same, too, Ted learned before too long. That was a fun afternoon.

it was Denise’s idea to drop out of classes. Melissa couldn’t have agreed more. Ted had to directly suggest that they move in with him, but they didn’t take much convincing.

I’ll admit it - I actually really enjoy weddings. I act like I don’t, because that’s what people expect from me, basically. I’ve got the whole cynical, sarcastic persona thing, y’know? So obviously I turn up my nose at people blowing thousands of dollars on a fancy room and earnestly declaring that they’re going to love each other for ever and ever. What, they’ve never seen the divorce statistics in this country?

At least, that’s what I say. Inside, though… I dunno. It’s sweet. I’m still pessimistic about the end result most of the time, but what can I say? It makes me feel good inside, seeing people so full of hope. Sure, they’re probably idiots who’ll split up inside five years, but what can I say? I’m a big soft-hearted fool inside.

So maybe that’s why, when one of the groomsmen started flirting with me, I didn’t blow him off right away. He definitely wasn’t my type. Too handsome. Not that I don’t like good-looking guys, it’s just… you know those dudes that are just too good-looking? Like some sort of attractive robot, or something? HandsomeBot 3000. Not a hair out of place, suit that fits absolutely perfectly, pristine white teeth and stubble that’s kept to the perfect length, down to the damn picometer. He was one of those guys. Not my type at all.

But he was friendly, and he said all the right things about my hair and my dress. (Again - if anybody asks, I hate getting dolled up for this kind of thing. In reality, though… it’s fun, every once in a while. So sue me.) He had a better sense of humor than I expected. And so maybe I’d had a couple of glasses of champagne by then, too - what of it? The point is, I didn’t expect to find myself being led away from the reception, giggling, but that’s what happened.

We made out in some dim alcove over by the kitchen. All my thoughts of him being “too handsome” or whatever went right out the window around then. He was fucking hot. I felt his pecs through his shirt while he kissed me, and… well, damn. Even I couldn’t turn my nose up at those. 

He smelled incredible. It was hard to put my finger on what the scent was. There was a top layer to it - soap or cologne or something like that, but that was just masking something more real underneath. Something like oil and metal. Or freshly chopped wood. Sweat, and sand, and rich brown dirt. Something incredibly masculine. It went right to my head. I took a big, deep breath while he was nibbling on my neck, and I thought my knees were going to give out.

Somewhere along the line his hand found its way up my dress. He had me pinned against the wall. It was rough brick, and it bit into my back a bit. The bricks were rough and cool, and his hand was rough and hot. I felt like there was going to be a handprint scalded onto my thigh when I looked down. I was dizzy. I’d never done anything like this before. I couldn’t figure out why. This was fucking incredible. This was what life was about.

His fingers were inside me then. I came. It took almost no time at all. His touch was like electricity coursing through me, lighting me up. I moaned - actually, I think I screamed, because he clamped his other hand over my mouth. He held me there like that - pressed against the wall, one hand keeping me silent, the other buried in my cunt, making me come again. And again. And again? I lost track.

Eventually he pulled away. I slumped onto him, face against his chest. I was soaked, sweating, spun about and sighing. This was… I didn’t know what this was. Nothing had ever been like this. My brain wouldn’t start back up. I felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut. I was limp-bodied, limp-minded. I couldn’t think.

He guided me down to the floor, down to my knees. The floor was cool slate, hard on my knees, but that was alright. He was there. He would take care of me. I could barely understand what was going on around me. His cock was out, and I was staring at it. It was right in front of my face. I felt like I was going cross-eyed, trying to look at it. My mouth was open. Was I drooling? I couldn’t tell. 

What was happening to me?

Before I could think about it anymore, he put his hand on my head. He pushed me forward, ever so gently sliding his cock into my mouth. Did I come again? I couldn’t even tell anymore. My whole body was like one large erogenous zone, everything I touched feeling like a sensual caress. I was lost. I didn’t know where I was, who he was. I didn’t know my name. I didn’t know about anything except my body, and - oh. Oh.

He gathered up my hair in his fist, pulling me down onto his cock, then pulling me back a bit. Down, then back. Again. Again. He set a pace, just like that, and I moved in time with him. Everything else faded. Not only did I not know who I was anymore, but now I didn’t care. I had a cock in my mouth - his cock. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.

"That’s it," he said, looking down at me. I gazed up, meeting his eyes as I bobbed my head. "Suck it like a good bimbo."

Those words echoed and expanded, taking form, filling up my mind. Suck it like a good bimbo. I bobbed my head, taking his cock as deep as he wanted it. Suck it like a good bimbo. Is that what I was? A good bimbo? Suck it like a good bimbo. Is that what I wanted to be? Did it matter?

Suck it like a good bimbo.

So, um, anyway. I don’t remember how long I was blowing Master for that first day. Prob’ly like, a long time, cuz I wasn’t as good at blowjobs back then! But now I get to practice, like, all the time. On Master, or on Master’s friends, or just like, random guys that I meet or whatever! It’s so great.

It’s kinda funny how I was all confused at first when Master called me a good bimbo. I was all like “Is that what I am?” Ummm, duh! I was so stupid back then.

I know what I am now. I’m a good bimbo, obviously. I’m also a silly slut, and a dumb fucktoy, and Master’s little whore. And like, tons of other stuff! I kinda forget a lot of them now. It’s hard to remember!

I live with Master now, obviously. I have since that wedding. Actually, who was even getting married? I can’t remember. I don’t see any of the people I used to know before Master. But like, why would I? He’s the only one that matters. All I wanna do is please him, y’know? And I totally get to. Life is so awesome!

Mandi just loved football season.

All week long she had to go to her job, and act serious, and pretend to be ‘Amanda’. Amanda was super boring, and was grumpy to people, and had basically no fun ever. She dressed in the lamest clothes ever and spent all day just working, staring at her stupid computer and just looking at dumb ol’ numbers. It was the worst!

Mandi had to just kinda sit there in the background. She didn’t understand any of the stuff Amanda talked about, or why she was so super dull, or why she never wanted to fuck her boyfriend, Kenny. She was such a loser!

But that’s why Sundays were so nice! Amanda would be sitting around, reading a book or some other stupid thing like that, and Kenny would say “The game’s on, Mandi.” Amanda would look up, and seem all confused for a sec, and then Mandi would be able to push her aside and totally take charge! It was awesome, cuz Amanda had a pretty smokin’ body, and Mandi loved using it.

She’d giggle and hug Kenny excitedly, and usually she’d blow him like, first thing. She just couldn’t help herself! Being all cooped up in that stuffy ol’ lame-o Amanda all week was so hard, and Kenny had the awesomest cock ever! Mandi totally didn’t understand why Amanda didn’t spend, like, every single day blowing him.

Anyways, after a while she’d go and get ready for the game. Sometimes she got all dressed up in like, a jersey and stuff. Other times she didn’t wear much of anything! She kinda liked mixing it up and keeping Kenny on his toes. He never complained!

Kenny’s buddies would come over, and Mandi would fetch their drinks and flirt with them and show off her sexy bod for everybody. If the game was a good one, she’d mostly just fix snacks and get them beers and flounce around looking cute while they watched. If they got bored, though, Kenny would have her entertain them instead. Those were her most favorite games! She still got herself off sometimes thinking about week 8 last season, when she took three cocks at once. Sooo hot!

She was so glad it was football season again!

Swear to god, I was only gonna have, like, a tiny bit of ice cream, just as like, a l’il treat for doin’ so good on my diet lately. But it tasted soooo good, I just kinda couldn’t stop!

I don’t really remember the next l’il while, but the next thing I remember, I was wearing this cute pink thingy, and my tits had got like, super big and nice, and my hair was different. And there were all these guys there, and they were super sexy and fun and cool, and we kinda fooled around for, like… a long time!

Jess sighed, listening to the sounds of fucking coming from inside the house. Judging from the voice, it was probably either Becca or Rosie in there right now. What a joke - she’d been waiting out here for twenty minutes now, what was taking Phil so long? The email he’d sent her told her to be here promptly at 1:30 - he couldn’t keep to his own schedule?

This isn’t what I wanted, Bethany thought, I just wanted to be a little cuter, a little ditzier!

She’d messed up the proportions of the potion, that must have been it. She could still change it, probably, reverse things, make herself look a little less… a little less… um…

All three of them were locked in place, smiles frozen, their minds racing, frightened and confused. He stood in front of them, appraising, looking from one to the next.

They didn’t know why they posed like this, why they had wandered away from the rest of the party to present themselves to him, what had possessed them, or why they couldn’t move or speak or call for help.