Being Bimbo – An Introduction

 

Several years back I published the story of how I turned a smart, vibrant young woman into a brainless and sex crazed bimbo. Those of you who read it know how I achieved it. Since I’ve no interest in iterating that portion of our relationship, I will simply instruct those who are not in the know to read ‘Becoming Bimbo’ for proper understanding.

With that out of the way, I will introduce this story thusly: A few years after reducing her to a full-time bimbo I decided to delve deeper into her psyche. My intent was to discover just how much of Michelle truly remained. What I discovered was a distinct division of personalities. Of course I was intrigued and so were my business partners. It was at their behest I set about to delving deeper into what she had become.

Of the things we learned, the most important was that Michelle had been so thoroughly locked away that she could neither act nor think on her own. Her mind was entirely linked to Brandi’s, though the converse was not true. What that meant was that, while Michelle’s personality was entirely her own, her intellect and emotions were very much locked in step with Brandi’s.

This is a long way to go about stating that Michelle very much knows who she is and what she has become. She also knows there is little, if anything, she can do about it. Michelle is, to be sure, trapped within the mind of a brainless bimbo. Much as she has tried she cannot escape. In fact, as this transcription concludes you will understand why she no longer wants to do so.

 

Before going on with her story I should note that Brandi/Michelle has no capacity for numbers. Thus, any numbers given in her story come from me. Under normal circumstances she cannot read or write. Thus, this story was entirely dictated. Because of her inability to speak clearly the task of deciphering much of this was quite tedious. Fortunately, as I have become accustomed to her speech patterns, I was able to understand the majority of it with only a little help from others.

One effect of her limited capacity made her story read as if it were told by a child. Consequently, I was forced to adjust it rather severely for the reader’s sake. The un-edited version of this transcript remains intact and is available only to clients to aid in their understanding while viewing the digital recording.

You may note that she waffles between calling herself Brandi and Michelle. She also refers to herself in third and first person, while occasionally referencing herself as a plurality. She also refers to me as Daddy or John, sometimes in the same sentence. Because it makes for interesting reading, and offers a deeper glimpse into her head, much of that was left in this narrative.

Before beginning this narrative Michelle was instructed to provide a description of her and her life as a sort of introduction. So as to provide a glimpse into Brandi’s intellect I allowed the bimbo a significant amount of influence during her introduction, following which I returned Michelle to full control.

 

You will find her verbiage rather repetitive. She knows only the slang terms for her vagina, breasts and anus. They are now her pussy, ass, asshole, tits, etc. She also uses the odd term “basketball balls” when describing her breasts, something I find rather comical. I am sure I am leaving out several other oddities, but they will become quite obvious I am sure.

It should be noted that her experiences while aware or in control were strictly monitored, planned and closely watched. Even our private moments were thoroughly monitored and have since been thoroughly documented.

It should also be noted that Brandi is aware of Michelle, though she is unsure who Michelle is. She knows of her, knows Michelle exists but has not completed the connection as Michelle has.

 

The video of the following transcript was created in the presence of one of our more prestigious and doubtful clients while under the scrutiny of a rather renowned psychologists.

 

Enjoy.

 

 

Michelle’s self-description:

 

My name is Michelle. I am a bimbo. But I was not always a bimbo. I used to be smart. I had plans for a career. But all that changed. I don’t know how long ago, and I don’t know why.

My husband’s name is John. He takes care of me. Without him I am not smart enough to take care of myself. I can’t read or write, I can’t do math, and I don’t have the smarts to do anything but have sex. I am good at having sex. I know that because Daddy says so. I like having sex. It makes me very happy.

I am telling you this story because John told me to tell it. He says it might help him to fix me. I hope it does. I want to be smart again. I want to be free of Brandi and be me again.

As a bimbo, my life revolves around pleasing John. I do that by doing whatever he tells me to do, by being a perfect bimbo for him. Sometimes that means being his toilet, and sometimes it means just sucking his cock or fucking him with my ass.

I love sex. I never cum, but I still want to have sex all the time. I love it. It makes me feel good to make Daddy cum. I love when he cums on me. I love eating his cum. It tastes better than anything. But pee tastes good too. Emotionally I hate it all, though. Liking it is because of how Brandi makes me feel.

My body is different than it used to be. I have huge tits as big as basketball balls. They are so big and I am so small they rest in my lap when I sit down. They make me look like a bimbo even though I am not really a bimbo.  

Daddy tells me I am four feet eleven inches tall. Daddy tells me he once made my tits into an ‘M’ cup. They are bigger now. I don’t know how big except they are as big as basketball balls. That’s what Daddy tells me. I love my tits because they make me look like a bimbo. But I hate them because they make me look like a bimbo. It confuses me sometimes.

The lips on my face are perfect bimbo lips. They are bow shaped. I can’t really talk clearly because of my lips. That’s because I can barely open my mouth anymore. I told the doctor to make them tight like my asshole. Now, when I open my mouth, there is only a small hole between my lips. I love them because I can suck cock better than anyone. Daddy told me so. But I hate them, too. I don’t know why since they are perfect cock sucking lips.

Daddy wants you to know that I walk with my arms turned so my palms face forward and that my steps are short and mincing. I have to walk really fast to keep up with Daddy. He walks very fast.

How I spend my days is simple. I wake up. I drink Daddy’s pee and suck Daddy’s cock. Sometimes he fucks my ass or my mouth. Sometimes he pees in my asshole, too. After he leaves for work I go exercise. Then I take a cold shower and watch television. There is never anything to watch because I don’t know how to turn it on. I just stare at the screen.

When Daddy gets home I drink his pee (when he lets me) and suck his cock. Sometimes he fucks my ass or my mouth. Sometimes he pees in my asshole, too. Then he makes dinner and we watch television. Daddy knows how to work the television. But I don’t understand what he watches most of the time. When I do understand it I get sad. But I still want to understand it. I don’t know why I want to understand it. Bimbos don’t need to know anything except how to fuck and suck cock. I am a bimbo, so I don’t need to know those other things. But I still want to.

When we go to bed I drink his pee and suck his cock again. Sometimes he fucks my ass or my mouth. Sometimes he pees in my asshole, too. Then we go to sleep.

Oh, I forgot, Daddy gives me an enema in the morning and then at night.

But we aren’t always home. Sometimes we travel. We have been lots of places. Those places were very pretty and I was excited to be there. We moved to Japan for a while, too. That was nice. Now we live in a big house in California. It’s pretty there.


 

Chapter 1

 

I can remember being places and doing things before I became fully aware of who and what I am. Those memories are dim. They belong to Brandi. My memories, my real memories start at childhood and end somewhere in my twenties, picking up again some time back. That I do not know how long I have been ‘back’ is unnerving, though not so unnerving as the fact that I can neither read nor write. I am incapable of doing simple math. Numbers and letters mean very little to me. They are but scribbling to my limited mind; and it infuriates me that it is so.

My memories, those few I can remember before becoming fully aware, are not my own. They are shared with Brandi; and though I am Brandi, I am also Michelle. That I was Michelle before I was Brandi I know simply because the memories exist. Still, there seems to have been no time in my mind I was not Brandi. It confuses me greatly. But my life is a mass of confusion, and I cannot escape it no matter how hard I try. It makes me both happy and sad at the same time. That, too, is quite confusing.

I said the memories before I became fully aware are dim. That isn’t exactly true. They are vivid, but they are not mine. They belong to Brandi, and I have to allow myself into her mind to fully remember them. I detest that mind, and so I keep myself separate from her. But even that isn’t exactly, true. Her mind still permeates my own. She still controls me to a large degree, while I control very little of her.

Her sexual need is tremendous, almost overpowering. So is her need to please John. She wanted/wants to be a perfect, brainless bimbo for him, body, mind and soul. In turn, I feel the same powerful emotions; and though I have tried to shake myself of her emotions I cannot do so. Thus, all her emotions are mine. The converse cannot be said to be true. She knows I am here much as an elephant knows a gnat is buzzing around it.

My first moment of awareness began early in the morning. The alarm had only just gone off and John had only just woken up.

“Good morning, Brandi,” he said. Then he kissed my cheek.

I turned and smiled, stretching and yawning. For a moment I looked about the room, wondering if we were in a hotel. Then I remembered that he had the entire house renovated.

Without so much as a thought, I crawled over him and got on my knees beside the bed. John sat up, patted me on the head and then smiled.

“I’m already hard,” he told me.

I smiled, wondering why he told me he was hard. Then I stood and bent over the bed. A moment later I felt the plug in my ass deflating. When he brought it to my mouth I sucked it in. Everything was automatic for me, and I thought it odd I wasn’t disgusted. I also thought it was odd I had been plugged, but knew it was not a rarity. That’s when I decided it must be a dream.

Feeling John’s cock between the cheeks of my ass, I knew exactly what he was going to do. Strangely, I was excited and happy for what was to come. It was as he filled my hole with his cock I remembered how much I disliked ass fucking. Nonetheless, I moved not an inch. Neither did I move when he began emptying his bladder into me.

“I guess you won’t need an enema this morning,” I heard John tell me.

Had my mouth not been filled I would have giggled. I wanted to giggle. It seemed oddly funny to me; and I was strangely proud to be used in this manner.

“I think I’m going to enjoy your ass this morning,” he told me.

With my body resting on the bed, and largely supported by my enormous tits, John began fucking my ass. He was hard and rough, and I wondered if he might be pushing his pee further inside my body. It certainly felt that way.

“You’re such a good bimbo,” he told me, as he pounded my asshole.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I wanted to say, my emotions high from his compliments.

Still fucking my ass, but nearing orgasm, he reached around and pulled the plug from my mouth. Then he told me to suck his cock. Disgusted as I was there was a sense of privilege in being allowed to pleasure him with this way. I wanted to suck him, to taste his cum and whatever pee remained on his cock.

I felt him slide back until he was almost out of my ass.  “Clamp down, now,” he ordered, and then pulled out.  

Suddenly I was on my knees, my mouth free of the plug and taking his cock between my lips. But it wasn’t enough, so I pushed myself further over his cock until it was lodged in my throat. Then I bobbed with abandon, pushing his cock into my throat until he came.

I can remember thinking how odd it was to feel his cum running down my throat. Nonetheless, it made me proud to have satisfied him. I was proud, too, that I had no need to swallow, that I could simply let it drain down my throat without issue. I was a good bimbo, and I knew it.