bimbodolljade - Tumblr blog

bimbodolljade · 8 days ago

Text

Bimbo Factory

CW: bimbofication, brainwashing, identity erasure,

Hi hi~ this one is a little darker

If you liked this story, please consider leaving a tip on my ko-fi

Enjoy 🩷

Glynda’s arms strained against the smooth restraints biting into her wrists, but they didn’t budge. The conveyor belt beneath her bare feet creaked steadily forward, a dull mechanical groan in the otherwise hollow air. She wasn’t alone. All around her, others shuffled along the same belt — some barefoot, some in mismatched pajamas, office clothes, or nothing but hospital gowns.

No one spoke. Some struggled, weakly. Some cried. One woman ahead of her kept mumbling the same word over and over, like a broken record.

They were all heading toward the same thing.

The chamber loomed ahead — a smooth, seamless structure of dull gray metal, its surface unmarred by seams or handles. Just a single, dark slot like a mouth. No windows. No way to know what happened inside.

But Glynda knew it couldn’t be good.

Her heart pounded. Every instinct screamed to run, to fight, to leap from the belt. But her legs wouldn’t move — bound like her arms. Whatever brought her here had stripped away control one layer at a time.

She craned her neck to see what was happening ahead. The first woman in the line entered silently into the mouth. It closed behind her with a loud clang, sealing tight. A mechanical hum filled the air. And then, another clanging. From a different, lower slot.

Glynda watched, breathless, as a panel opened at the base of the chamber. What appeared there could not possibly have been the same person. The woman who emerged wore an expression of slack, mindless joy.

Gleeful and empty, drool dripped down the corner of her lip. Her eyes were vacant, unfocused. She balanced an exaggerated vuloptuos figure on stiletto heels.

She wore the tawdy, impractical clothing reminiscent of a street corner prostitute: tight latex mini-dress and gloves, with an abundance of exposed cleavage, garters and thigh-high stockings, panties so thin they might as well have been translucent — not to mention the makeup so thick her face looked practically carved of plastic. And all of it strained around impossible, artificial curves. Her lips, so plumped-up, dripped wet and swollen — and her hair — previously mouse-brown hair was now bleached a bright, garrish platinum. The long curls cascaded like a shining halo over her tanned shoulders and down her back.

Again the gates to the chamber disturbed the quiet. Glynda looked up. Another victim had entered the dreadful chamber.

In the dim light of the space, the woman ahead of her in line continued her low, broken-record murmur.

"Bimbo." the woman whispered. "Bimbo — bimbo."

A chill slithered through Glynda's chest. Yes — a bimbo. That was the perfect way to describe it.

Glynda could only wait with breath held as the line continued to move — watch as more and more parodies of women left this bimbo factory.

Until it was her turn.

The conveyor jerked forward — the belt dragging her to stand on display. In the silence she was painfully aware of her breathing — quickened, heavy, panicky.

The interior of the chamber looked thoroughly alien. There were straps, and restraints. Needles and drills and devices she had no names for. And there, hanging down from the center of the ceiling was an ominous screen.

She tried to pull her head away as the apparatus lifted itself to sit inches from her eyes, the straps digging into her head, holding her jaw still. She didn’t have a chance of escaping now — all her limbs held taught by restraints. A strong sweetness filled the air.

"Please relax," a woman's voice said — a soft, almost sing-song lilt of a tone. "There will be no pain, and you'll be much happier when we're finished."

No sooner did the words sink in than did the screen flick on — a series of symbols in the center, and a swirling of concentric circles around them. Glynda felt her breathing speed. The screen, along with the strange smell, created a wave of disorientation. A soft pulsing in her ears seemed to rise and fall, then rise again — and she found herself helplessly focusing on the words.

"Thoughts hurts. Overworked minds crumble. You have spent long enough thinking. You can let the thoughts go. Thinking is no longer your job — you won't need to think for a while. Let it go and feel relief, a wonderful relaxation."

The symbols grew — filling more of her field of vision until the concentric rings filled all she could see, pulsating to the soft, hypnotic beat. Her breathing fell in time with the pulses of sound and shape.

"It's okay. You won't need your thoughts for much longer anyway — but until you no longer need your mind, you can simply relax and stop thinking for a moment. Feel all that wasted mental effort dissipating, and enjoy the pleasant warmth flowing into you — replacing the fatigue with soft pleasure, relief from all worry. Feel the thoughts draining from your head."

She thought of the people who left this chamber behind her — their mindless expressions, and complete emptiness of thought. They looked so happy — unburdened.

"You'll be better off once you let go, won't you? No worries, no cares. It doesn't make much sense to think so hard right now, does it? Just wait. Wait for us to finish with you — wait so nicely, letting your mind drift like a gentle stream. Your thoughts are floating away, washed downstream by the water. By the pleasure."

She was right, the woman’s voice in Glynda's ear was so very right — it didn't make much sense to try to hold onto those thoughts when everything in her mind just made the situation worse. The anxiety, the fear — they weighed her down.

"It feels nice, doesn’t it? Just let go, and trust in our process."

Mechanical arms started to cut off Glynda's clothes. One of the mechanical limbs held a syringe with a clear solution. The arm plunged a needle into her arm — the feeling like a prick of a bug, a moment of coldness spreading. And then the cold spread to heat, a pulsating, almost tingling sensation of heat spreading from that spot and up her chest.

"Feel all your fears, all those inhibitions, just fading away. They are unnecessary. Only bliss fills you now."

Glynda's eyelids sank half closed. A deep, contented feeling swam into her chest. Why had she ever struggled in the first place? There was nothing to worry about. No need to fight.

Soft pulses rose into her from deep between her legs. The pleasant, rising sensations felt like nothing she’d felt before. As her lips opened to let a moan escape, a hard rod pressed between them. Another mechanical limb extended between her spread thighs. She couldn't see past the screen, but the vibrations of pleasure from between her legs told her all she needed to know. Another low moan escaped her. The two rods pressed in, up, down. She couldn't control the rising desire to moan and gasp at the stimulation, her back arching and body pressing in time.

Her vision began to blur — her focus fading. The rings on the screen blurred at their edges and became indistinct, almost melting together. They seemed to throb — with the same needy rhythm as the throbbing pleasure between her legs. A moan of pleasure sounded out with each throb. But, it didn’t sound quite like the woman she was moments ago.

Another long shaft entered her butt. Another low, ecstatic sigh left her mouth. How good did full feel. She wriggled, delighting at the sensation, while needles plunged into her naked skin.

The tingling, seeping heat continued to rise — the buzzing pulse rising from deep in her chest. Her lips broke into a mindless grin, then split into giggles at the pleasant tickle that spread across the top of her chest. Something seemed to swell there, like balloons filling up.

"You are a bimbo." the soft, feminine voice said — almost singing the words with the same gentle lilt as before. "What else would you be? It only makes sense for you to be a dumb bimbo — to be so pretty and docile, happy and submissive. Why would you want to worry about anything anymore?"

A warm, empty pleasure flooded Glynda's mind.

"Your only purpose is to serve. Nothing else matters. Only that."

Her only purpose is to serve. Only that. How wonderful — no need for thoughts or worry or stress ever again.

"You are perfect for this. The perfect little bimbo doll. You don't have a name or a personal life. Whatever lies your feeble mind once believed are discarded, flushed down your wet, drenched cunt."

Something inside Glynda's mind shifted. Her head felt so foggy — so wonderfully, pleasantly warm. Like the heat spreading up through her pussy. So full — a strange, mindless contentedness spreading out through her. The sensation of warmth between her legs grew in time, pulsing to the rhythm of her heart. It rippled through her like the changes to her body. The fullness in her chest rose. Softness seemed to melt through her body, like a warm puddle of pleasure. She couldn’t believe what this pleasure was doing to her. As her tits grew, a dull pulsating tingle swept through them, a euphoria filling every inch of her body. She felt her consciousness sinking deeper as her hips widened, her ass plumped out to fill the space.

Out of the walls came metal plates that pressed her waist into a narrow shape. A little discomfort, a moment of pain — and then it became pleasure as her mind slipped further and further into bliss. It felt so nice, as though she wanted her waist to be smaller, tighter.

"You no longer need your old mind or its memories, they can slip away. Lost forever. All that is left are the necessities. Every little thing you need to be a bimbo. That isn't much. You love being a vapid, mindless, bubbly bimbo."

Oh, how right the voice was — her entire identity, slipping away down that stream, floating along that soft current — until what was left became so clear. Everything that she'd ever needed to care about. Nothing else mattered.

"You will serve whomever owns you. It doesn't matter who they are, you exist for this sole purpose, and it gives you the deepest satisfaction in existence. A bimbo doll is a plaything, not a person."

So true. So right. Of course a doll didn't have any of that baggage, didn't need anything other than her pretty looks and ability to please.

"From now on you are an empty-headed sex object — a toy. A toy for pleasure."

A soft, cooing sigh escaped the bimbo's mouth as the words settled into place. The metal arm retracted, withdrawing the rods.

As the restraints retreated from her limbs and the straps retreated, the bimbo swayed on the spot, giggling.

Descending from the ceiling, a set of clothes appeared. Her eyes widened as she looked over them — her body moving automatically to grab them and pull the fabric over her voluptuous form.

The mini-dress had a plunging neckline — revealing an indecent amount of her massive, gravity-defying tits — and the skirt hem didn't cover anything. She slipped her svelte legs into a pair of stockings, garters held them taught over her thick, plumped thighs — her breasts bouncing heavily. Next she slipped into panties — a thong, hardly anything at all, she noted with glee. They disappeared between the soft, pink cheeks of her ass. And finally — the seven inch heels. She giggled again, rocking as she stepped onto her tiptoes, a long, ecstatic sigh rising. Her heels clicked on the floor of the chamber.

With a single, final hum, the chamber's panel opened up — and shipped her out.

Drooling the bimbo stared ahead. Her mouth felt wet. And her head — the only thought that swirled within her pretty little mind was an intense, overwhelming urge to please.

132 notes · View notes