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.
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.