Rambling Crow

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!*

I recently started doing a challenge on my blog. It’s called the Dick Pic Challenge! Here are the rules:

1) For every five dick pics you receive, you must pick one, and jerk off to it! You must also send pictures to the “winner” proving that you jerked off to his cock.

2) No matter what, ALL DICK PICS must always get a response! 

3) There is no limit to how many pics one person can send you!

4) You should come up with benefits for the same person winning multiple rounds, to encourage them sending more and more pics! 

For example: The second time they win, they get to select what color panties they want you to wear. 

The idea is to constantly remind you of why you’re a sissy, and what your place is! 

*****

Thanks to chasteapoc for this submission, it’s fantastic! I’m in for this.

Just a little list of ideas that I came up with on the topic of speech control. Some of these are about in person speaking, some are about texting, some are applicable to both. Some of these I’d like to try, some of these I have tried, some of these I would probably not want to do, some I’m indifferent to.

Word Restrictions

No swearing.

No puns.

Only being allowed to use words once per day. 

Only being allowed to use words from a list of pre-approved words chosen by my partner.

Not being allowed to use words from a list of off limits words chosen by my partner, but otherwise able to speak freely.

Not being allowed to use words containing a certain letter of the alphabet, but otherwise able to speak freely.

Only being allowed to use short and simple words, limited by number of letters or number of syllables, or simply at my partner’s discretion. (Imagine typing out an entire text and being met with “hmm, I think that word might be too big for you,” and having to agree and reword what you’ve said.)

Having to refer to myself in the third person.

Having to refer to my partner by a title, honorific, or nickname they have chosen.

Having to use a lowercase “i” to refer to myself. 

Having to use capitalized pronouns to refer to my partner. 

Limited Speech

Only being allowed to say a certain number of words (or less) per day.

Only being allowed to say a certain number of words (or less) per text message. No double messaging, of course.

Having to keep track of how many words my partner uses, and always using less throughout the day.

Having to start each sentence with “Please” and/or end it with “Thank you,” even if it doesn’t technically make sense. 

Having to rhyme. Or else fulfil the requirements of some kind of specific poetry such as a haiku. 

Having to ask permission to ask for things. “Please may I ask to use the bathroom?” 

Only being allowed to say “Please” and “Thank you.”

Not being allowed to ask for anything.

Only allowed to speak to my partner in public. 

Not being allowed to speak on specific topics, particularly when they’re super relevant. For example, we go to the zoo and I’m not allowed to talk about animals. 

Only being allowed to say the opposite of what I mean/want. 

Restricted Speech

Having to ask permission to speak at all, either through a non-verbal signal, or else the only thing I’m allowed to say without permission is “Please may I speak?”

Only allowed to speak when spoken to.

Having to be in a specific position - the more submissive or uncomfortable, the better - to speak. Additionally, having to wait in that position until I am acknowledged and allowed to speak. 

Having to go a set length of time without speaking each day. The timer starts over each time I speak. (Imagine it’s an hour and at 55 minutes you get asked a question you can’t ignore. Each attempt like that would mean you talk less throughout the day.)

When possible, set entire days, or even a weekend as “quiet time.”

Surprise quiet time. That is, a spoken or text command, “It’s quiet time,” and I am expected to be silent until I am released. (A potential training opportunity: this could happen many times throughout the day, each session lasting only a few minutes before the next.)

Starting every day without the ability to speak until I have completed my morning routine. Finishing each day by not being allowed to speak once my nighttime routine is done. 

Having a set day of the week during which I am expected to remain silent. 

Having a cost to speak. A mild-moderate punishment for each time I wish to speak, such as having to put nipple clamps on first or having to write lines for each time I spoke afterwards.

Having to trade my ability to speak for rewards, such as not being allowed to orgasm unless I agree to a two days of no speaking.

Trading chunks of silent time for edges. Each edge is half an hour of silence. Maybe I know before I start edging, maybe I don’t. 

Having to be silent until I have completed a task, such as linewriting, or an edging session, or even something mundane like having to stay silent on a long drive, even while playing a board game. 

Having recurring tasks during which I am not allowed to speak, such as never being allowed to speak during meals or while watching movies. 

Only being allowed to speak while wearing my collar. 

Not being allowed to speak while wearing my collar. 

Only being allowed to speak while naked. 

No words, only sounds. Easy enough when you’re gagged, but having to make the deliberate effort to only make sounds is nice. 

Wearing a bark collar. Each time I speak, I get shocked, until I learn not to speak while wearing it. It then becomes a very effective gag. 

Forced to Speak

Being asked a series of questions and having to provide at least X words to answer, on topic. (It wouldn’t even have to be a high number. Imagine having to use 50 words to answer a yes or no question. Even 20 might be a challenge. But being asked to say/text 300 words on why I shouldn’t have an orgasm? Just a thought.)

Agreeing to X number of questions (number could be in trade for edges, or in trade for lessening a punishment) and having to answer them fully, even if it’s embarrassing. (Obviously within limits. Questions I refuse to answer don’t count towards the number.)

Having a mantra to repeat every time my partner says a certain word, whether that word is part of the mantra or not. (Having someone trigger a mantra like this is great fun, especially mid-conversation, or while I’m trying to ask for something, or while I’m trying to explain something.)

Having to repeat after my partner, perhaps modifying pronouns. (“You will obey” being modified to “I will obey.”)

Being tasked with writing up a fantasy, and then being made to read it aloud.

Being Physically Gagged

Being expected to be gagged or otherwise prevented from speaking at all times. (Ballgag might be too harsh for “at all times,” but tape is effective, too.)

Being gagged at random. Not just during scenes, but during mundane activities, such as watching a movie together or doing housework. (I like the idea of being interrupted while in the middle of something, maybe even in the middle of a conversation, and my partner simply holds out a gag. Or sitting at my desk working when my partner comes up behind me and slips my gag between my lips. Being told to kneel and open my mouth, excited to get to suck cock, and instead gagged. Comes with a bonus of being trained to readily take my gag.) 

Being told I can only speak while being gagged, despite knowing it will be unintelligible.

Planning a voice call with my partner, but right before we begin I am instructed to put a gag on so that at no point during the call can I actually speak.

Games

Playing the quiet game, either with my partner or with another submissive. I am rewarded if I win, and punished if I lose. 

Last week we had a test, right, and I got an F! An F! I never got an F before! I’m sure I revised all the right stuff, in fact I swear most of my answers were definitely right. I think he just marked them wrong to make me look bad. I really don’t understand what he’s got against me.

My parents believed his shit though. The reports saying I’ve been misbehaving in class. Chewing gum, swearing, flirting and distracting the male students…it’s all bullshit! Still, my parents have been yelling at me and trying to keep me in my room. Plus they give me all these talks about saving myself and not being a slut. I’m fed up of it!

Then today in class he took it too far. He had me stay after classes and write on the board “I will not suck dick in class” ten times. I wasn’t doing anything! I’m not a slut who sucks guys dicks at school! That didn’t matter though, and I had to do it to avoid yet another detention for something I didn’t do. I went to the headteacher about this but he’s even creepier than the Mr lambert! He was licking his lips throughout the conversation. I think I should contact the police…

————————————————————————————-

I…I called the police and they said that if he hadn’t touched me or made any kind of proposal they couldn’t really do anything. The school-board were useless as well. As far as they are concerned Mr Lambert is a model teacher who is just trying to control an unruly student…except he’s a fucking liar!

He’s manipulating everyone…especially me! Recently he has made me stay after school more and more, writing stuff on that board. I hate him. I don’t want to do anything he says, it’s all lies. I write stuff like “I will not masturbate in class” and “I will not have inappropriate fantasies about students or members of staff”.

Worst part is…it’s affecting me. I don’t know it’s just that…everyone is treating me differently. My parents, other teachers, other students…they’re all acting as if I’m some kind of slut. As if I’m less than a normal person…filthy…disgusting…it’s creeping me out.

Like, last night I was trying to get to sleep and the words I was writing on the board wouldn’t get out of my mind. My thoughts kept wandering…thinking about the stuff I was accused of doing. I was actually imagining it. It was actually….well…it was kind of…it was getting me hot! I don’t know how but I was getting wet. All of my thoughts kept coming back to Mr Lambert…his dick…

I think I need help. My head has been swimming for a while now and I’m starting…I’m starting to get…confused. It’s getting harder to tell what the truth is. His lies…I know they’re lies…at least I think I do. I tell myself they’re just lies but then I catch myself in class, daydreaming. Having thoughts which aren’t…appropriate. There were juices on my seat. It’s not…it’s not like I meant to…I’m trying to make sense of this stuff!

—————————————————————————————

Oh wow, like, I was reading my diary from a few months ago and I sounded soooooo stupid! Like I was all paranoid and scared of nice old Mr L. I had these silly ideas that I was actually smart. I can’t believe I accused him of lying about me when he’s so nice and smart and sexy…

He was just trying to help me. I see now. I was behaving like a total slut. Sucking boys dicks in the middle of class while he was trying to teach. Dressing all sexy and making it hard for the other students to learn…hehe! ‘hard’. I was so dumb thinking I was a normal girl…turns out it was because of how horny I was. I’m so glad Mr L helped me understand my urges and how I could deal with them.

Now I’m much better behaved. Mr L has me come early to class so that he can satisfy my need for cock long enough that I don’t disrupt the lesson. He lets me blow him and pussy fuck him and sometimes I even need an assfuck to stop the urges.

You know I like the whole “good girl gone bimbo”-routine, but there’s a big problem.

There’s tons and tons of content about this out there, but i haven’t found a place, where all these websites are linked. The TG community is organized much better, which is why I was into TG content in the first place.

So I thought about opening my own little link-library of good bimbo (non-tg) websites right here. This post will be updated whenever I find a website that I want to keep or recommend. I’m starting right now with a rather small collection, but I already know a few other pages to add soon. Feel free to recommend sites for this list. UPDATE JULY 2015: Sadly we’ve lost a lot of good blogs in the last year. I just updated the list to only include still available websites. UPDATE MAY 2016: Added some new blogs. Please recommend more new blogs to me. I know there have been some new ones lately, but I didn’t keep track. So message me for any additions.

Captions

Amiee’s Bimbo Stories Bimboization Bimbomatic Bimbo Transformations Bimbo Puppets And Playthings Bimbos and Dolls Bimbo Slave Pets (Mollypops23) (new) Brains to Bimbos Catfish 27 (new) Devil in the Details Ditzy Diary (new) Control and Surrender (new) Fantasy Transformations (bimboisbetter reposts) Jukebox (new) Living Lovedolls (seems inactive) You can never read to many erotic stories… Mind Control and Bimbofication by The Fish  Mind Control Fantasies (WillbGone) (new) Moq’s Bimbo Fiction PhD Bimbo (seems inactive) Relattic Stills Remedial Education for young women Silly Bimbo Babes (new) Suck it Bimbo The Hand that leads (new) Their Only Purpose The Noble Robin (seems inactive) The Sane Scientist The Splash’s TFs and Mind Control Uplifting Tales for Aspiring Sluts Yellow cunt

TG-related Captions

(strictly bimbo-related) Evie’s Emporium Science Bimbo The Zoligomyst

Stories

BPAP (Bimbo Puppets and Playthings) checker Choose your own transformation Chrystal Wynd Downing Street Kris P. Kreme Limerick Lisa Teez MrGrey Pan The Sympathetic Devil William Pratt Wesley King

Art/Comics on DeviantArt

Too Classy for Him (Mind Control, Corruption, Bimbofication)

She had been a thoughtful, cute, financial advisor in her late 20′s. Now, her hair was bleached blonde. Her boobs were permanently stuffed with silicone implants. Her pouty lips were enhanced from collagen injections. She looked like a bimbo.

“It’s time for another change. What makes you proud?” he asked her.

“Please no, don’t make me answer.” she cried.

“You will answer me, doll.” the handsome man said is his deep, masculine voice. “What makes you most proud?”  

“My master’s degree. I’m proud of my education, okay?” she answered.

“Not anymore.” he said as he placed the helmet on her head. “We’re gonna change that right now.”

The helmet hummed as he twisted the dial on the machine. It was now erasing and changing the memories of her university education. Instead of studying, she now “remembered” focusing on her appearance. Makeup, clothing, and accessories were her priorities. So was partying and clubbing.

Her grades weren’t the best… she justed wanted to have a good time and flirt with guys. Every time she tried to be smart, she made a fool of herself. She had tons of silly little “blonde moments” that her friends liked to playfully make fun of her for.

She remembered that she didn’t finish her bachelor’s degree, instead choosing to rely on rich sugar daddies and boyfriends. She manipulated them into buying her the best clothes and accessories. Her favorite daddy paid for her plastic surgery.

“And… you’re back. How do you feel, doll?” he asked her.

“I’m, like, totally not happy about it. I know you did something to me but it’s all mixed up now!” she replied in an angry but completely harmless tone.

“Well, I’m sure you’re not happy about right now but you secretly love it, don’t you? You love it when you’re spoiled like a princess. You like getting expensive gifts from men because you have a pretty face and big boobs.” he told her, as she began to moan.  

“You like being a trophy and arm candy. You want to date successful, good looking men for their money. They’ll fund your insatiable need to look good and be bathed in luxury all the time.“

“Even if your boyfriend rescues you, he’ll never be rich enough for you. Sure, you’ll still think he’s a good man but he can’t afford your luxurious, chic lifestyle. You’re way too classy for him. How do you feel about that, doll?” he said, as he twisted the dial to the maximum setting.

Star hadn’t always been like this. At one point she had been a rising academic star. Up and coming in the history department she was starting to attract international attention. Unfortunately she annoyed the wrong donor. It wasn’t hard for him to seduce her. For all of her take charge attitude with her students, in bed she was eagerly submissive. And from there the teasing began.

The daily edging sessions she recorded and sent to him from her office. The teasing of her when they were alone. The little text messages she got telling her to do naughty things like take a nude photo of herself in the deans office. All of it just made her wet and wanting. And over time that built up. Her students noticed she was less focused, less put together at the end of the semester.

The constant teasing and edging was making her mind fuzzy. If she hadn’t had a detailed lesson plan she would have been unable to continue. But winter break was coming up and hopefully her new master would let her cum soon. While they were together at his ski lodge, he made her be his maid the whole time. Using her holes, making her suck him off. Even making her watch as he fucked another woman in front of him.

She was in tears for need, for seeing him fuck someone else, seeing how hard he made her cum was just too much for her. And she begged and pleaded. Speaking without really knowing what she was saying. He told her he had a fantasy about making a professor end her career. So into the camera she spoke. Telling the world, falsely, that her doctoral thesis was plagiarized.

That she had fucked the Dean in his office to secure her teaching position. That she had an inappropriate relationship with a student. That she was a fraud and a fake. Her eyes glazed over with need as she admitted that she had even falsified her high school transcripts in an effort to get into school.

She masturbated furiously to the idea, so happy she had made her new master happy. So happy to please him. And she didn’t think of the tape he made until Monday night. Where he didn’t have her kneeling between his legs during the game. But sitting on his lap, stroking her clit as he told her she had something important to tell her.

The panties he had made her take off and throw out…had been picked up by a student faithfully. One just a bit obsessed with her. And that the Dean loved his memento photograph of her from their tryst in his office. A happy memory before he retired. Star was very confused right up until the news began. With the headline being an academic scandal. The tape of her speaking was played and the moment her Master saw the horror on her face, he gave her permission to cum.

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.

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.

[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.

Since the New Order came to town, I have lost my job, my credentials, my house and my savings.  Now I have to lose my chestnut hair, which I prized because it gave me a link to my mother and grandmother that I could never lose – until I did.  But my boss says he’s only going to hire blondes, so goodbye, Mom, goodbye, Oma.

I also have to lose my accent and my vocabulary, and have to listen to voice recordings of an actress named Arleen Sorkin, because my boss is crazy about “Harley Quinn”, whatever that is.

Nellie was exhausted, after her final exam in sex technique and “flair”, but her day at the Exec2Sec Retraining School was not yet over.  She still had to report for her breast implants.  She’d been told during her first day that she would be going from a B to a double D, and she’d bought a 36DD bra and put a pair of water balloons in it to help her get used to them.

As Nellie sat, weary and disgusted and slightly loopy from the Valium she had been given to prepare her for surgery, she looked at the other woman, all of them also high on Valium, some even smiling.

A nurse in a ridiculously short white uniform and tiny white cap stuck her head out the door, saying, “Next!”

It was Nellie’s turn, so she wobbled to her feet, holding her heels in one hand because she knew she could never walk in heels while this stoned.  She stood aside to let the previous patient stagger out, careful not to brush against her no-doubt-tender new jugs.

She saw the surgeon washing up, for which she was grateful, took off her top and bra, took out the water balloons which she knew would be replaced by essentially the same thing, only underneath her skin.  She put a foot on the pedal of the wastebasket and was sickened to see bloody paper inside, but shook herself and continued to the table.

She looked on a sterile tray by the doctor’s hand and saw the rounded implants she had expected but also some small objects that looked like computer chips.

“Uh, Doctor, what are those flat gray things there?”

“Silicon chips,” he said flatly.  “They’ll help your bosses keep track of you.  I think they can even page you, but I’m not sure about that.  They just told me to put a chip underneath every implant we do.  Now, give our patient a little gas, won’t you, Suzie?”