DitzyKate

But that wasn't all. No, he had taken every chance today to remind you that you were just a girl. Changing the channel so you could watch something less mentally challenging. When you mentioned the actresses name, he corrected you. You tried to do some mental math and he just looked at you and said math was hard.

(1,200~ words)

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Drugging you before you have to cram write an essay that’s due in an hour

Watching over your shoulder to observe how your sentences get worse and worse as time passes

You start with ‘The proliferation of digital media has fundamentally altered the landscape of modern communication, creating new paradigms of interaction that both connect and isolate contemporary society.’

20 minutes pass and the drugs begin to take effect.

‘Digital stuff changed how we talk to each other now it's different because phones and stuff make us together but also separate maybe?’

After 45 minutes you only have 3 paragraphs written for this 5 page paper.

‘phones r good? or like bad? We look at them. but dont look at people. but like we see people on phones.’

You’re squirming in your seat. You don’t understand why it’s so hard to get words on the page.

“Why don’t you try reading your first paragraph again and see if it jots your memory?” I suggest.

“Mhm... good idea.” You nod

You lean forward over your desk, your nose almost touching the screen.

“Pro...lif..fera...tion...” Your finger drags along the screen as you read it slow. “...dig ital... media has fun...da...men...tally...”

Your face scrunches in confusion.

“what does that even meannn?” you whine. Something is seriously wrong, but you don’t know what. You don't even realize you’re drugged. All you know is you feel really funny.

You try to start writing again but you can’t seem to remember what all those letters mean

“w...why can’t i- i don’t get it. i don’t get the words”

Your head hurts.

“Aw baby what’s wrong? Are you having a hard time?”

You nod.

“Yeah? Are you going dumb? Are the big words too hard for your little head?”

You whine and nod again, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Aw, it looks like you only have five minutes left before this paper is due. This is the big, important one right? The one you said if you didn’t get a good grade on then you’ll fail?”

You gasp. Your whole body goes tense. You look from me, to the clock, to the blank screen with three paragraphs of nonsense. You’re hyperventilating.

“Shhh, baby it’s okay. It’s not your fault you’re dumb. You can’t help it.”

“Nonononono” you whine.

“Come on, finish it.” I smile, enjoying watching the panic set in. “Write.”

You start to type frantically. Random letters, random words that you don’t understand.

“Shhh, I know. You’re stupid. It’s not your fault.”

I look at the screen over your shoulder

`ghgkjafhgoahreouhgadhgld;shlgh;aeorighadoghjadjhgijdfg`

“It’s midnight. Let’s turn this in.”

“nononoooo” you beg.

“One more thing,” I tug your shirt down exposing your tits, I snap a picture of you, not a thought behind your eyes, drooling in front of the computer screen. “Let’s add this to the document.”

I click and drag, attaching the image at the very top of the document, right above your jumbled, nonsensical title page.

"There," I say, “Now he'll really understand what you were trying to say. A picture's worth a thousand words, isn't it? Even if you can't remember any of them."

You whimper, a small, animal sound of pure despair, trying to push yourself away from the desk, but your limbs feel like they're filled with wet sand. You can only watch, wide-eyed and helpless, as my cursor clicks the bright red "Submit" button. Your breath hitches in little sobs.

“It’s ok baby, this just proves college was a bad idea anyway. You’re obviously too stupid for it.”

I open a new tab, drafting a withdrawal request email to the registrar.

"You won't have to worry about any more big, mean words, or scary deadlines," I coo condescendingly, my fingers moving across the keyboard. "Isn't that better?"

“stop…” you whine. “s’my school.”

“Not anymore,” I hit send, the little whoosh sound sealing your fate. I pat your head, the way you would a dumb pet that’s finally learned its place. “Just my dumb little college dropout now, huh?”

The confirmation notification for the withdrawal request appears on screen,

‘Request Received: Student [ ] is initiating withdrawal from all courses for the current semester. A confirmation email will be sent to your university address.’

The sob that’s been building in your chest finally breaks free.

"What's wrong?" I ask, my tone light, mocking. "You got what you wanted. No more essays. No more stress."

You don't know which is worse: the chemical haze that's stolen your thoughts, or the crystal clarity with which you now understand that you've lost everything. You've been stripped down, brick by brick, until there's nothing left but this. A jumbled essay. A humiliating photo. A promising future I've just deleted with a few keystrokes.

"You'll get used to it. This is your life now. Just a pretty, empty-headed thing for me to play with. Isn't that so much simpler?"

You can only stare, your vision blurring with tears as the finality of it all crashes down. It's not a nightmare you can wake up from. It's just your new reality. Simple, as I said. Horribly, devastatingly simple.

“I think I’ll keep you all drugged up like this from now on. It’s not like you need to think anymore anyway.”

My words don’t even seem to register. Your sobbing has quieted into something worse, soft needy whines.

“You like that, huh, puppy?” I tease. “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about anything at all. Just have to sit there and look pretty.”

I lean in, kissing the tears off your cheeks. You lean into the touch.

“Let’s get you out of these complicated clothes.” I tug at the hem of your shirt. “You don’t need them anymore.”

You lift your arms with no resistance, letting me pull it over your head. Your movements are sluggish, uncoordinated.

I reach down into your panties. I feel your leaking wet pussy.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Getting to be a dumb little pet”

You moan softly.

“Good. Because that’s all you are. All you’ll ever be. My pet.”

My fingers curl inside you, making you gasp.

“I’ll train you,” I whisper against your ear. “First you’ll forget words, how to speak. Then you’ll forget your name. Then you’ll forget how to walk properly. I’ll keep you on a leash. We’ll go all the way back, until you’re just a sweet, helpless little puppy.”

I press my thumb against your clit and you cry out, a raw, desperate sound.

Back in my home reality, I barely even needed to wear a bra and now I've got these huge fucking things on my chest! I was such a nerd, hiding behind a stack of books, my coke-bottle glasses, and baggy sweatshirts. The only thing that could even remotely be considered big on me was my brain! So I poured all of it into my dream of a reality hopping device, something that could pluck me out of this lonely existence and bring me anywhere else. I didn't know what I'd find; I just wanted something different. I told the machine to find a reality where I was popular and closed my eyes.

The next thing I knew, I had this body! Blonde, big tits, full lips. And, god, was I popular. Apparently, I was a cheerleader in this reality? Not that I could blame myself, wanting to show off these gigantic things, tits that I thought only existed in porn that were now a part of my gorgeous, sexy body! Memories of a new life rushed into my head, of puberty being kind to me, of boys being kind to me, of one night at a party when I got drunk and let everyone, everyone take turns groping and sucking on my massive, still growing tits. I had gone from a mousy, shut-in pervert to an out and proud slut, so I guess not everything changed; I was still just as horny. Boyfriends, girlfriends, parties, threesomes, they all swirled around inside my head.

There was only one, tiny problem. Turns out, being a slut and living off of the attention that my body got me left little time for reading books and studying. Why would I, when I can just get some nerd to do my homework for me in exchange for getting to touch my tits for, like, a few seconds? So, uh, that reality changing device thingy? Yeah, no idea how to use that. I can remember my old self making it and remember my old self using it, but I can't wrap my head around how it actually, like, y'know, works. So I guess I'm stuck here! Stuck with these huge tits and all of the attention they bring me.

He went to your closet and took out your Playboy Bunny outfit and laid it out. "Today you are going to be a silly little girl. No cleaning. No cooking. You can do your silly little art work. You can watch porn. You can watch trashy reality TV. You can be my fuck toy. You will use that silly little girl voice all day. What you won't do is anything that requires thinking. You have had too much thinking lately and I don't want you getting headaches from using your brain too much. Now get dressed."

Back in my home reality, I barely even needed to wear a bra and now I've got these huge fucking things on my chest! I was such a nerd, hiding behind a stack of books, my coke-bottle glasses, and baggy sweatshirts. The only thing that could even remotely be considered big on me was my brain! So I poured all of it into my dream of a reality hopping device, something that could pluck me out of this lonely existence and bring me anywhere else. I didn't know what I'd find; I just wanted something different. I told the machine to find a reality where I was popular and closed my eyes.

The next thing I knew, I had this body! Blonde, big tits, full lips. And, god, was I popular. Apparently, I was a cheerleader in this reality? Not that I could blame myself, wanting to show off these gigantic things, tits that I thought only existed in porn that were now a part of my gorgeous, sexy body! Memories of a new life rushed into my head, of puberty being kind to me, of boys being kind to me, of one night at a party when I got drunk and let everyone, everyone take turns groping and sucking on my massive, still growing tits. I had gone from a mousy, shut-in pervert to an out and proud slut, so I guess not everything changed; I was still just as horny. Boyfriends, girlfriends, parties, threesomes, they all swirled around inside my head.

There was only one, tiny problem. Turns out, being a slut and living off of the attention that my body got me left little time for reading books and studying. Why would I, when I can just get some nerd to do my homework for me in exchange for getting to touch my tits for, like, a few seconds? So, uh, that reality changing device thingy? Yeah, no idea how to use that. I can remember my old self making it and remember my old self using it, but I can't wrap my head around how it actually, like, y'know, works. So I guess I'm stuck here! Stuck with these huge tits and all of the attention they bring me.

I want a man who can gaslight me and manipulate me. As a smart girl, there is nothing hotter than a man who is much more smarter and manipulative and someone who knows what buttons to push and how to subtly condition you. So subtly and so slowly that you don't even realize what's happening.

Slowly dumb me down. Like make me forget things maybe, constantly gaslight and trick me that I keep forgetting until it's normalized and I accept that I always forget. Slowly feed me all sorts of wrong information about the world so that when I talk to someone outside, I sound so dumb. Slowly make me think how dumb I am and maybe I shouldn't talk to people about many things

Slowly make me forget even basic maths. I would be so dependent on him for even the most basic things. Like I would be buying a small snack and maybe he says 5 dollars. I run to my man with my purse to tell me how much 5 dollars is

"Oh, what a cute little whimper of need. Is it a court declaring you are stupid or having your rights taken away that got you so worked up?" The contempt in his voice made it worse.

Women aren't much smarter than animals, so any important decision is best handled by whichever Man the woman is most tame to. Pregnancy is a prime example of this.

It's a whole lot easier to keep a bitch tame when she's got your baby in her, it shows to other Men in very simple terms that she's your property, and helps show other girls what a real woman looks like.

Becoming a bimbo airhead is an art, and I'm here to guide you through every step of the way. You want to be a dumb, ditzy, fuckable blonde? Let's make that happen, sweetheart. Here are your step-by-step instructions:

Dye Your Hair Blonde: The first step to becoming a bimbo is to dye your hair blonde. The blonder, the better. You want to be a walking, talking Barbie doll, and that starts with the hair. Make sure it's big, bouncy, and perfectly styled. Men love a good blonde bombshell, and you're going to be the best one they've ever seen. And when you're out and about, make sure to flip that hair, tease it, let it bounce with every step. You want to be a fucking vision, darling, and that starts with your hair.

Embrace Your Inner Ditz: Start acting like a ditzy airhead. Forget things, mix up words, say stupid shit. The more you act like an idiot, the more you'll become one. Men love a woman who's not too bright, who's easy to manipulate and control. So, embrace your inner ditz, darling. Let it shine. And when you're with a man, make sure to bat those big eyes, pout those full lips, and let out a few "uhs" and "likes." You want to be a good little slut, and that starts with acting like one.

Dress Like a Slut: You want to be a bimbo, so dress like one. Wear tight, revealing clothes that show off your curves. Short skirts, low-cut tops, high heels—make sure your outfit is sexy, slutty, and makes you look like a fucking goddess. And don't forget the accessories, sweetheart. Big hoop earrings, lots of makeup, fake nails—go all out. You want to look like a walking, talking wet dream, and that starts with your outfit. And when you're dressed like a slut, make sure to walk like one. Swing those hips, stick that ass out, let men see what they're missing. You want to be fucked, darling, and that starts with looking like you want to be fucked.

Talk Like an Airhead: Use simple words, short sentences, and lots of "like," "you know," and "uh." The more you talk like an idiot, the more you'll become one. Men love a woman who's not too bright, who's easy to talk to and easy to fuck. So, embrace your inner airhead, darling. Let it shine. And when you're talking to a man, make sure to lean in, let your tits brush against him, let your breath tickle his ear. You want to be a good little slut, and that starts with talking like one.

Watch Mindless TV: Reality TV, soap operas, anything that requires no brain power. The more mindless, the better. Shows like "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" or "The Bachelor" are perfect for keeping your brain nice and empty. The less you think, the dumber you'll become, and that's exactly what you want, isn't it, darling? And when you're watching TV, make sure to take breaks to suck cock, give blowjobs, fuck like a porn star. The more you practice, the better you'll become, and the more men will want you.

Avoid Challenging Conversations: If someone tries to have a deep conversation with you, change the subject to something shallow and stupid. The less you engage your brain, the dumber you'll become. You want to be a bimbo, not a fucking genius, so avoid anything that makes you think. And when you're with a man, make sure to keep the conversation light and flirty. Compliment him, flirt with him, let him know you're interested. You want to be a good little slut, and that starts with keeping the conversation shallow.

Practice Submissive Speech: Instead of saying "I think" or "I believe," say "I feel" or "I want." Your thoughts don't matter, darling. Only your feelings and desires do. And your desires should always be centered around pleasing your man. So, practice submissive speech, sweetheart. Let it become second nature. And when you're with a man, make sure to use it. Tell him what you feel, what you want, what you need. You want to be a good little slut, and that starts with being submissive.

Surround Yourself with Idiots: Hang out with people who are dumber than you. Their stupidity is contagious, and before you know it, you'll be right there with them, basking in the glory of ignorance. The more you surround yourself with idiots, the dumber you'll become, and that's exactly what you want, isn't it, darling? And when you're with idiots, make sure to act like one. Laugh at their jokes, even if they're not funny, agree with their stupid ideas, even if they're not smart. You want to be a bimbo, and that starts with acting like one.

Embrace Your Role: You're a bimbo, a slut, a pleasure machine. Embrace that role with every fiber of your being. The more you embrace it, the dumber you'll become. And that's exactly what you want, isn't it, darling? You want to be the best little bimbo you can be, the dumbest, the ditziest, the most fuckable. So, embrace your role, sweetheart. Embrace your stupidity, embrace your slutty nature, and let it make you the best little bimbo you can be.

Practice Your Skills: Suck cock, give blowjobs, fuck like a porn star. The more you practice, the better you'll become, and the more men will want you. So, go out there and practice, darling. Practice on your man, practice on your toys, practice on anyone who'll let you. The more you practice, the better you'll become, and that's exactly what you want, isn't it, sweetheart? You want to be a good little slut, and that starts with practicing your skills.

So, go out there and become a bimbo airhead, darling. Embrace your role, embrace your stupidity, and let it make you the best little slut you can be. And when you're done, come back and tell me all about it. Because I can't wait to hear about how you've mastered the art of being a bimbo.