CW: Bimbofication, body transformation, sluttification.
Cover: the amazing @callmemollymaybe !
Camilla looked at her new house with a mixture of relief and deep bitterness. It was, in her eyes, large enough for a woman of her station, with spaces to entertain ladies like herself, serve some of her famous tea and sconesâ but smaller than it would be if there was any sort of justice in the universe, which, she knew, was a ridiculous notion. Keeping it clean and proper would at least be a way to pass the time, but that did little to soothe the wound in her chest. Even the idea of hosting a gathering of like minded individuals felt farcical, for there was no one like her in her accursed new town.
God damn you, Jack. It was all his fault. All of it. Blind, irresponsible excuse for man. He had traded a perfect wife, one with class, with dignity and impeccable taste forâŚ
No, she would not go there. He wasnât worth it. That⌠harlot wasnât worth it. Camilla had relived that moment, seeing them in bed, desecrating the marital altar, too many times. She knew any man that would squander a gem like herself was not worthy of her time or her feelings. Still, the injustice of it all hurt. Having to move to a college town just because it was more affordable⌠the indignity of it all! Sure, some of her friends on Facebook commented that they would visit, but Camilla knew better. One look at the⌠local fauna and theyâd run for the hills; or worse, believe she had gone native.
She prepared herself mentally to go to the store, get some ingredients for a proper meal. Not that there was a multitude of ingredients to choose from, a fact she had made clear in her Google review of the store. But college kids⌠well, she could only assume they subsisted on garbage and energy drinks. They certainly looked like they did. Garbage in, garbage out, in all ways. Them, more than anything else, made every trip out of her house, her sanctuary, an odyssey.
Camilla shivered, thinking of the contact sheâd have to endure with these⌠kids. No, they werenât even kids. Kids grew up, changed, eventually learned their place. These so-called college students, oh, they spelled doom for the nation if they ever reached any position of power. Hell, all the worst things in society could be fairly laid at the feet of these vacuous, classless, degenerate new generations. Generations that had no sense of modesty or propriety, that clearly spent more time working out than cultivating manners, that lived their lives for whatever social-platform-turned-softcore-pornography they inhabited these days. She dreaded to think about the sort of classes they took, the cornucopia of perversities that passed for an education in this day and age.
Well, no point postponing the inevitable. Camilla opened the door and started walking. Five minutes to the store, she calculated; five minutes in, five minutes back. Fifteen minutes engaging with this devalued parody of a world. She could manage that.
It took Camilla a monumental effort not to keep a running list of all the offensive things her five minute walked exposed her to. She did notice them, of course. The group stinking up the street with marihuana as they fried their already substandard neurons. The floosies with shorts that barely qualified as clothing. Just like the little tart Jack⌠And the tattoos! Idiots branding themselves like the cattle they were. The situation at the store, however, was much worse.
Why women would ever make themselves look intentionally repulsive, Camilla could never understand. But looking at the pack of five girls she could only conclude their abrasive looks, all leather and black and metal spikes and piercings and pale makeup that made them seem like corpses took effort. If only they put that effort into being proper ladies! At least corpses were usually covered up, unlike these⌠bouncing, jiggling freaks.
The shove was unintentional. Partially. It wasnât Camillaâs fault if these circus acts didnât know when to move instead of clogging an aisle. But their language in response⌠appalling! Surely she had a right to respond.
âPlease, go back to whatever brothel you escaped from and let proper women shop in peace, would you?â, snarled Camilla.
One of the floosies looked Camilla straight in the eye. The audacity! Camilla braced for a torrent of sewage that never came. Instead, the girl spoke in a calm, certain tone.
âLady⌠be careful. The universe has a balance, and it gives back what we put out into it.â
Oh, marvelous. Brain dead philosophy from a woman who looked like the worst kind of street walker.
âPlease. If the universe was just, youâd be manning a fryer for the rest of your lifeâ, said Camilla.
The girl paused for a moment, looked at her friends with an unspoken understanding.
âWords spoken in anger⌠one must always be wary of them, for the universe is just. Poisonous thoughts only poison our souls, and what we judge in others often mirrors what we judge in ourselves. Threefold the fates return to us what we put out in the ether.â
Camilla pondered the idiocy of the statement her entire trip home. Justice? What a foolish notion. The ether? Clearly the girl was on some kind of new, fancy drug. She sighed. The whole experience had devastated her will to cook a proper meal, or to eat at all. She was exhausted. Maybe skipping dinner and calling it an early night would be for the best.
Camilla woke up in the middle of the night. It was in fact midnight, but she had no way of knowing that. The light from the full moon, which crept in from the window, cast strange shadows in her bedroom. What had woken her up, she couldnât say. All she knew was that there was something odd in the air, something unsettling and unseen. Maybe it wasnât in the air at all, she figured. It felt as if she had breathed it in, and it was inside her chest. Her journey to the store had upset her more than sheâd realized, Camilla figured. Damn kids, robbing her of her sleep.
With that, she closed her eyes and the waking world vanished once again.
The note under her door felt like a death sentence. Okay, Camilla knew she was being dramatic, but the gall of it irked her. She knew the postman hadnât even attempted to ring her door, deliver her package properly. Instead, he had just left a note telling her to go to the post office to pick up her property. No one wanted to work, that was the long and short of it, and now she would have to swim in the polluted waters of a town full of brainless kids. Again. As if the previous day hadnât been enough. However, she needed the new set of plates she had ordered, so she steeled herself and walked out the door.
The sun felt aggressive on her skin, as if the sky itself wanted her to stay home. One more point against the West Coast in her ledger, right beneath, well, the people. Not two blocks away from her home and Camilla had the dire misfortune of overhearing part of what passed for conversation among these creatures.
âOh come on, it meant nothing! Iâm not like, catching feelings for some guy I met on Tinder, okay? I just want to, you know, see him again. Just a casual thing, Vivi!â
âAll Iâm saying is⌠once, fine, twice, okay, but three times? Heâs gonna think you want something serious, Kat.â
âNo, no, he knows the deal. Heâs not looking for anything serious either, andâŚâ
âThen why see him again?â
âDonât judge me, okay?â
âThe man may not look like much and he might not have like, the biggest cock or anything but⌠he eats my pussy so good. So, so good. Like, he fucking goes in there and⌠itâs like heâs playing it like a flute, Kat. Iâm fucking serious! Heâs doing symphonies on my pussy! He takes his time and listens to every whimper and he just⌠fuck, no one ever made me cum like that, no one, and my pussy needs some loving, you know?â
Absolutely disgusting. The words came to Camillaâs mouth like a reflex. âFilthy libertineâ, she muttered with venom. Girls these days. No self respect, no self control, trading their dignity for a fleeting moment of physical pleasure. Camilla didnât notice the breeze picking up just for a second as the words echoed in her head. Filthy libertine.
It was while Camilla was waiting for her package to be found somewhere in the depths of the post office that she noticed it. A strange sensation⌠one she had forgotten, if she had ever felt it at all. Well, she had certainly never felt it with such intensity. She found herself pacing and stealing glances at the man behind the counter. Sure, he was a bit portly, a tad bitter-looking, slightly misshapen, but perhaps he couldâŚ
No, no, what was she thinking? She wasnât desperate to⌠But then again, she was desperate. And feeling that desperation growing deep in her body by the second. Well, a place like this surely had some empty back roomsâŚ
She needed to get out. She needed to leave immediately, before she did something sheâd regret. What the hell was wrong with her? Sheâd never⌠And that muscular man on the street, he looked like he could pick her up without breaking a sweat, and⌠Run. Run now. Get away from anyone. Get home. Donât look around, donât look at the people, donât look at men, just donât look, just runâŚ
A crash, the sidewalk rising up to meet her. Camilla got her bearings, finding herself on her buttocks, some barely dressed girl in front of her, on the floor and as confused as she was.
âWatch it, you⌠you⌠balloon-chested doll!â shouted Camilla before getting up in a hurry and resuming her run against a strange wind. Something felt weird, like she was almost off-balance. She didnât have time to question it. She opened the door and slammed it shut behind her. Home. Safe. She panted and leaned against the door. What on Earth was happening? She needed to calm down. She took a few breaths, let her gaze drift down to the floorâŚ
What? Something was blocking her view. She couldnât see her own feet. Her blouseâs buttons seemed to struggle in a titanic battle to keep the garment from exploding open. Slowly, dreading each step, she walked to the bedroom and looked at herself in the mirror.
Camillaâs scream echoed throughout the empty house.
Camilla took a deep breath. The facts made no sense, but they were the facts nonetheless, and they imposed a certain logic of their own. That her new reality was patently impossible didnât make it any less solid. Camilla knew sheâd get to the bottom of it, somehow. She was an intelligent woman. She was capable. All she needed was a professional opinion. A doctor, obviously. And yet she found herself incapable of calling to schedule an appointment.
What would the doctor think of her? What would anyone that saw her think of her? The thought terrified her. It was bizarre feeling her skin, so smooth, so⌠plastic. Not even in her younger years had she possessed such an impeccable complexion. If anything it was clearly too unblemished to seem natural. People would think she had spent thousands on top of the line surgeries, like those airheads on TV! Even her waist was diminutive! The indignity! And of course those suspicions of medical enhancement would only be confirmed by any slight glance at her chest.
Those obscene things! Protruding from her frame like⌠bolted on, gigantic beach balls! There was no hiding them, either. Camilla had tried every item in her wardrobe, every shirt, every blouse, every sweater. No matter how discreet she tried to make her outfit, her breasts inevitably became the focal point of her look, of the way she presented herself to the world. No one could look at her and not see some⌠loose woman, she figured. Could she show her face in front of a doctor looking like that? What would she even say? Could she argue that those fake-looking things were natural? How? Make the doctor feel them?
And there was the big issue. The one thing she needed to solve immediately. Her breasts felt⌠incredibly stimulating. Camilla felt anger when she caught herself unconsciously groping them, and a deep shame when she, for the first time, let her hand reach down between her legs andâŚ
Disgusting. What was she becoming?
Still, this new body had needs. That much was evident. If only she could take the edge off, just for a bit, just long enough to think clearly and make her doctorâs appointment⌠And she detested to admit it, but her hands, well, they werenât enough. She had fought the realization for as long as possible, but now the fact was undeniable, the need overwhelming. But⌠how? How did one⌠just⌠do the deed?
The youngsters outside certainly seemed to have no problem with it. And now she looked as young as they did. She detested how simple the solution was, how disgustingly obvious. But she would not sell her soul. She would at least dress better than the⌠little tramps in town. She might be after the same thing they desired, but she was different. Better.
Wearing a light blue blouse and a modestly long skirt, Camilla went out into the world.
The world was different. The way people looked at her was different. The way the men interacted with her was different. The way women almost snarled at her was different. Sure, she had always known how to command proper respect, but now, she didnât even have to try. It felt repulsive that everything was simpler because⌠why? She looked a certain way? Was the world truly so superficial? Still⌠if Camilla was honest with herself, she had to admit the attention was intoxicating. There was something oddly warm in those looks, in those smiles, even if they hinted at other desires. She lingered for a bit on the sidewalk, half gathering strength to enter the bar, half basking in her own glow, reflected in the eyes of others. She forced herself to focus. She was on a mission.
Okay, so not everything was easier. Girls saw her as competition, that much was clear, and made even more tactile by the words she overheard going into the bar.
âLook at that bimbo. What a fucking slut. She could have told the doctor to make those fucking tits look natural!â
Camilla couldnât help herself. She looked straight into the bratâs eyes. Who was she to judge her?
âQuiet, you foul-mouthed harlotâ, she growled.
Camilla walked into the bar just as a breeze lifted the skirt of the poor, stunned girl. Foul-mouthed harlot. The words seemed to float in the wind.
God, this place was Hell. The music, if it could be called that, was just a loud succession of obscenities over a synthesized drum beat. Everywhere she looked, Camilla saw only bodies worthy of condemnation for their shameless attire. A few drinks of the swirl that passed for an alcoholic beverage in that establishment did manage to calm her outraged nerves a bit. Of course, with her rage gone, other feelings and sensations came into focus. She had needs. She had a concrete reason for being there. Better to get it over with. After a brief scan of the room, she settled on a young man. Robust. Well-toned muscles. His face⌠not entirely unpleasant. She could imagine herself⌠Oh. She needed to hurry. Stick to the plan. Be subtle, be classy, bring him home. Camilla took a deep breath and approached the man, who was drinking by himself. Maybe she could ask if he was waiting for someone. That would be as good an opening line as any.
âHi! You look nice. I want you to fuck me.â
The manâs eyes widened, mirroring Camillaâs. What the fuck had just come out of her mouth? Why was this shit, these words, swirling in her mind? She wasnât some⌠foul-mouthed slut!
âS-sorry?â, managed to stammer the man.
Okay, Calm down. Try again.
âWhat I mean to say is⌠I want you to take me to the fucking bathroom and rail my brains out. Now. Think you can manage that, big boy?â
âI⌠Iâm flattered but I have a⌠umâŚâ
âDo I look like I give a fuck? Come on, look at me. Look at my tits. Look at my lips. Does that girl of yours have anything to compete with me? I know you want to feel these big funbags wrapped around your hard, tasty cock, donât you? Oh, I can see it straining against your pants from here! You know youâll regret it for the rest of your life if you donât take the chance to use such a fucking perfect slut like meâ
Camilla felt defeated. The torrent of words had just⌠slipped out.
Dazed, the man got up from his seat, trying in vain to hide his erection.
âOh⌠okayâ, he muttered.
Oh. Maybe those words did have some⌠strategic value. Camilla took the manâs hand and they flew into the bathroom, in full view of everyone in the bar.
Whatever illusion of maintaining control and some sort of dignity vanished as soon as she closed the bathroom door. She didnât give a fuck that the floor was far from clean. She didnât really care about the line of angry women outside the door, that surely would hear everything. She simply pulled her skirt and panties down, put her hands on the wall and⌠presented herself. Like a bitch in heat. Fuck, why did that feel so good to think? Bitch in heat. Fucking willing slut. For some reason the words only made everything feel better. And⌠he was fumbling with his belt.
âFuck you! Hurry the fuck up and claim me like the fucking whore I am, you clumsy fuck!â
Okay, not nice, but honest. Maybe that would spur him along.
It sure did. Camilla screamed as never before as she felt him entering her, stretching her pussy, filling her completely. God, it felt so fucking good. She wasnât counting on him being well-endowed, but it was a pleasant surprise. Fuck, her cunt was so sensitive, his hands on her huge tits driving her closer and closer toâŚ
She felt it. His cum flooding her pussy. No. No, she was so fucking close! What the fuck? Camilla turned around to see the man panting, spent, smiling, almost laughing in disbelief at his luck.
âWhat the hell? Iâm not satisfied! What are you smiling about, you giggling fucking idiot?!â
The words bounced inside the bathroom. Giggling fucking idiot.
Before she could stop it, a smile formed on Camillaâs lips. Okay, like, maybe it was kinda funny. And⌠she had made him cum in a second! That was so fucking hot⌠And his cock⌠it was already showing some signs of coming back to life, his eyes glued on her big dumb tits. She fondled them and giggled, giving him a nice show. His cock⌠she needed to make it hard. Like⌠her mind felt all fuzzy and that cock was the only thing she could focus on. Her lips parted on their own. Suck it like a good slut. Something inside her seemed to feel conflicted about it. Had she⌠never sucked a cock before? No, that couldnât be, could it? She didnât know. Didnât want to think about it. All she wanted was to feel him hardening inside her mouthâŚ
God, it was so amazing. She could feel the blood rushing to his cock, enjoy every second of him getting bigger in her mouth, harder, taking up more space inside her, inside her mindâŚ
âFuckâŚâ he groaned. âYouâre so good⌠uh⌠sorry, I didnât catch your name.â
She felt her chest swell with pride. She was good. She was a good cocksucker. A good whore. And her name⌠why was that important? She felt her mind struggle in a pink fog, straining to focus. She licked the side of his hard cock and moaned. Her nameâŚ
âItâs⌠like⌠Cam⌠Cam⌠IâŚâ
âCammy? Thatâs such a cute slutty nameâ, he said, playing along with the girlâs dirty mouth.
It was⌠She giggled. Cammy. Slutty Cammy. It bounced in her mind. Like titties! Her hand slid between her legs as she took him as deep into her throat as she could. Slutty Cammy. Cammy the whore. Cocksucking Cammy. She barely noticed when his phone rang. She just needed to please his cock. Everything else could wait.
âOh, Cammy, my friends⌠fuck⌠my friends are hereâŚâ
âBring them in!â Cammy blurted out before she knew what she was saying. It felt good, just talking without having to think.
He paused, stunned. âAre⌠are you sure?â
âFuck yeah! Tell them to come in! I want more! More cocks! Oh, oh, is any of them a girl? I want to suck titties and lick pussy too! And I want⌠fuck, I want someone to take my ass! Did you know no one ever fucked my ass? Crazy, right? Itâs like, so fuckable and bouncy and nice! Oh, you should be the one to take my anal cherry! Want to do that? Make me your anal whore? Wait, wait, bring your friends in first, I want people to see you stretching my tiny asshole for the first time! Like⌠a celebration! Fuck, tell them to come in!â
The man sent a text. Soon, the bathroom door opened, and three men walked in carefully, almost as if they were expecting to be the victims of a prank. Cammy pouted. No girls. Oh well, sheâd have to pick one up on the dance floor later. That would be so fun! But for now, she had other things to take care of.
âHey, cuties! Donât be shy! Your friend here is going to pop my anal cherry! But that means Iâll have two holes for you to fill!â Cammy frowned for a second, struggling with logistics. âSo, like⌠if I ride one of your cocks, and he fucks my ass⌠that would mean someone can facefuck me⌠so thatâs three⌠And I jerk one of you off, thatâs all cocks taken care of! And you can, like, switch holes whenever you like! Think itâs a good plan?â, she asked sincerely.
They men didnât answer, but their pants hitting the ground signaled their view that it was, in fact, a very good plan.
IV - The Circle is Complete
Cammy bounced around town. She had gotten rid of those ugly clothes in the closet. God, what had she been thinking? As usual, she greeted everyone with a smile, and most people returned it. Those few that didnât, mostly girls⌠well, she didnât mind them. Besides, the chances that she had fucked their boyfriends were rather high, so maybe they had a reason for being a bit mad at her. And then there were the handful of boring squares that disapproved of her filming herself and posting it online, which to Cammy, simply made no sense. She was making people happy, making money, harming no one. What was the point of life if not to spread joy? Cammy was busy with such thoughts when she managed to trip and the contents of her bag, which she had forgotten to close, spilled all over the street. Iâm so fucking clumsy!, she giggled to herself.
When the goth cuties approached and helped her pick up her lipstick, wallet, and a pair of panties she had forgotten about after some fun encounter, Cammy shamelessly stared. Fuck, they were hot. Maybe theyâd like to collab on a video or twoâŚ
âHelloâ, said one, that Cammy instantly named âgoth mommyâ in her mind. âYou are Cammy, arenât you?â
âI am!â, she chirped. âSlutty Cammy!â
âDo you remember us?â
Cammy frowned. Should she remember? She strained to recall. Surely sheâd remember having sex with such amazing goth sluts, soâŚ
âNope, sorry!â, she said.
âDo not apologize. Iâd be surprised if you did. We have a sort of⌠group. One that tries to make the world better. And we believe you could complete that group. You see, thereâs four of us. Do you know what a pentagram is?â
âA⌠what? Sorry, I⌠you have really nice boobs, did anyone tell you that?â
âDonât worry. The point is, we have some fun rituals that would work so much better with five girls⌠and with a girl of your particular attributes. Lots of real estate to draw sigils onâ, said goth mommy, making a point to stare at Cammyâs tits.
Cammy took a moment. She didnât understand what the girl was saying, but spending more time with hot goth girls? That seemed like a great idea! Oh, wait. There were other important things to consider.
âSo, like, will there be any cute boys there?â
Goth mommy helped Cammy to her feet and circled around her like a predator stalking its prey. She shamelessly groped Cammyâs massive tits, drawing a moan from the bimboâs plump lips. It was okay, Cammy knew her titties were there to be groped. A shiver went down Cammyâs spine as the gothâs warm breath tickled her ear.
âBoys? Weâll have all the boys you could ever want. All the cocks you could ever desire. If you join us, oh, believe me, weâll all get enough cum to cover us head to toe, whenever we wish.â
Cammyâs brain felt fuzzier than normal, the assault on her tits pushing whatever remained of her intelligence into the background. All she knew was that she was hearing the right things. Boys. Cock. Cum. What else could she ever want?
âCount me in!â, she smiled.
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