Wike, Totawwy Bimbo! Pt. 04

Wike, Totawwy Bimbo! Part Four.

Waking Up with Unexpected Assets.

Winnifred Burkle awoke groggily, her body strapped down to a table. She lifted her head slightly and saw two bandaged masses on her chest. Inside must be what were now her definite breasts. The previous night she'd been barely able to see her feet past the two orbs they had grown on her in that strange aquarium. They'd been slightly smaller than Cordelia's, but these new ones must be a good bit larger. Of course, there were the bandages, but even without them she was sure she wouldn't see a thing over them. She squirmed uncomfortably.

"Hi, anybody dere?" she asked nervously. "Deesh reshtwain's are kinda uncomf'table. I'd weally like to get up now." Fred bit her fat lower lip to stop it from trembling. She was terrified of what was happening here, horrified of what these people had already done to her body and voice and speech, and what they were about to do to her mind. Where was Cordy? Could she save her? Did she escape? Did she phone? She'd promised. "Trust me," she'd said. Then Fred heard a door opening. She couldn't see anyone because her breasts were in the way, but she could hear the clicking of heels followed by inane giggles. By now they sent a familiar sense of horror into her. She watched as two pink-haired bimbo pseudo-nurses moved into view.

"Awww, she, wike, sho pweddy," said the taller of the two.

"Wow! Dem tiddies are, wike, huge," tittered the other. "Dey, wike, way bigga dan mine. I bet dey look totawy shwutty unda dem banda... banda... fingies."

"Yeah. Doctah shay dey'sh gonna be wike de biggestest he eva make. When dey done, dey look sho kewl."

"Da'sh niche," Fred slurred past her fat new lips, making the girls start. "But if you giwsh can jush' untie me, I could... " Fred thought for a moment, "I could show you what dey look like now." Fred just hoped they were as gullible as she supposed they'd be. If they were, it should be no problem to outsmart them.

The two bimbos looked at each other. They shrugged, giggled and began fumbling at the straps. Fred's heart raced; she might have a chance to escape this nightmare. As soon as the straps around her arms were undone, she sat up. The new weight on her chest was enormous, giving her a hard time reaching the straps on her legs. Then she swung her long legs off the table, noticing that she reached the floor way before her feet did. Her ankles wobbled in what must be crazily high heels and platform soles. She tried to stand steady, then she tried to walk as quickly as she dared. She was only able to move a few steps. Her inexperience on heels of any height as well as the weight of her chest caused her to fall.

Fred quickly began to crawl along the floor. Maybe she could out-crawl the two silly bimbos. But a pair of black leather brogues stopped her in her path.

"Nice to see that you know where a real woman belongs," said the man belonging to the shoes. He looked down at the crawling Fred. "But I believe in your case you should be gyrating around a pole." Fred quickly tried to back away from the man wearing a lab coat, but he grabbed her by her long hair. "Not so fast, honey. Your sweet friend has just welcomed her neural augmentation. Now it's your turn." He looked over to the two bimbo nurses and chuckled. "Just think! In a couple of hours, you'll be looking up to these two as geniuses."

Fear crept into Fred's grossly disfigured body. She started shivering, making her bubbly curves shake. A few hours, he said? Oh God, she thought. Sweet God... Angel, come save us. Save me, Cordy, I'm so afraid. She felt a slow trickle of urine leave her swollen slit. The man in the white coat laughed, grabbing another handful of her hair. He pulled her up to his face, making her shriek with pain.

"Time's up, slut!" he said. When she once more stood on her swaying pins, he tore the bandages off her chest. It hurt, but when she looked down, there were only reddish traces of the torn off bandages left on her otherwise perfect skin. The fake-looking melons rose from her slender ribcage with a deviant pride, stretching her new strong skin into taut glory. The doctor poked a hard finger into the flesh.

"Nothing as slutty as the real fake," he muttered. Fred squealed at the touch. The doctor slapped her giant tits, making them swing into each other. Then he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Fred touched one tit with sheer disbelief; she couldn't even call it a breast anymore. She really had to reach out to graze its nipple, and when she did, her knees almost folded from the jolt of electricity that hit her. The doctor grinned.

"Such lovely toys indeed," he said. Then he pushed her in the direction of the door. "Don't you even think of running, cow. We have means of making you regret that more than giving in." They walked along a corridor with tall windows to the right. Down deep lay the ignorant city. She thought of all those normal, busy people who didn't care for a thing in the world. They didn't know zilch of what happened in this building; they were totally indifferent to what was done to her...

Here she was, all alone. A stupidly disfigured caricature of a woman, tottering behind two jello mountains. Flashes of reflections from the tinted windows showed her a lean, tall girl on endless legs. She was totally naked and elevated on silly heels. Out of a wasp-like waist grew the biggest tits she'd ever seen or thought possible on a woman. They didn't sag a millimeter and their nipples were at least an inch long.

Her ass almost imitated the tits as a counterweight. How could anyone be taken in by these looks? Even a hormone-ridden teenage boy would have choked on his spittle and run, had he seen her now. The man behind her prodded her ass cheeks.

"Hurry up, whore. Let's get you happy." A tear formed in the corner of her eye. It clung to her fat, black lashes, then it ran down the permanent rouge on her cheek without leaving a trace. She felt how it hit the balcony of her chest.

At last, they reached a red door. The whitecoat rapped on it. They heard a male voice call out "Enter!" He led her into an office. It was large and had been done in nice, light paneling. The wooden floor echoed where her heels hit it. Behind a desk stood a bespectacled man in his early fifties. His tweed jacket gave him the air of a college professor, including the patches on his elbows. He smiled and waved her closer.

"Please come in, Ms. Burkle", he said. There was no trace of irony. "I heard you have a few complaints about the way you've been treated in here.

A Very Understanding Gentleman.

Fred sank into the chair the friendly man offered her. It fit snugly around her new ass and thighs. She didn't know what to say; a wave of mild confusion flushed her brain. Complaints, did he say? And did he really call her Ms. Burkle? A soothing tentacle of past and better times licked at her tired brain. The man smiled.

"Oh my," he said. "Where are my manners?" He walked around the desk and extended a hand to introduce himself.

"My name is Warren," he said. "Wallace Warren, but please call me Wally, why insist on formalities?" His chuckle was mild. Fred touched the hand and smiled back nervously. What the hell was going on? Who was this guy, this sweet-talking daddy of a man? Who let him out of the classroom?

"I hope you don't mind if I call you Winnifred, Ms. Burkle? Or maybe even better: Fred? I hear your friends call you that. I'd like to be a friend." He smiled. "Anyway, I have been looking forward to at last meeting a woman with some intellectual baggage; you know how it is around here." He shrugged and spread his hands. Fred tried to find the traces of a sneer, the beginning of ridicule, but the man was as straight-faced as your next poker pro. She slid one leg over the other. It made her realize that she was naked, a new and bewildering thought, especially as she hadn't worried about it at all until now. The totally surreal situation must have put her mind into one dimension, and her new, alien body into quite another. The crazy tits were someone else's, the nails, the whorish make-up, but now, suddenly, she felt herself plunged back into its fleshy envelope. It made her blush and the man smile. He sat down behind his desk and never took his benign gaze off her nervous glance.

"Please, calm down, Ms Burkle, eh... Fred," he said, adding even more lubrication to his slick tone of voice. "I'm ever so sure all these little problems will solve themselves. Let me start off with a sincere apology."

Fred could not take her eyes off the unremarkable man. The more she looked, the more his full moon face seemed to bob at the end of a tunnel. Everything outside his spectacles vanished out of focus. Somewhere, just beyond the edge of her hearing, soft music started. She could not say if she heard it or not; she couldn't even say if it was music or just an undetermined breath of musical noise. One thing it certainly did; it made her lose the thread of thought as soon as she started thinking. It plucked at her thoughts and scattered them even before they could form. She shook her head. Her abundant hair danced around her painted doll's face. Again, the man smiled, putting both hands together at the fingertips.

"Fred," he said with a sigh. "I'm afraid we'll have to use some of your brilliant scientist's logic to help us solve our little predicament. Would you think you could be of assistance with that?" The music changed his words into a toneless murmur. She had to listen hard to catch their meaning at all. Her swollen body wriggled in the tight chair, causing her bare, enlarged cunt-lips to slide over the leather. Lovely little tinglings spread up into her belly, starting a very distracting duet with the music. Something inside her must be tuned to the noise; intimate vibrations licked at the sensitive swirls of her inner ears. Little spiders climbed her spine, making the fortified muscles shiver. It caused her huge tits to wobble and the nipples to ache.

"Fred? Ms. Burkle?" His voice suddenly became clear again. He seemed to expect an answer. "Was that a yes, Fred?" He smiled, nodding.

"Yesh... I shupposhe," she said. Her tongue felt as thick as her new puffed-up lips.

"You see, Fred. Most of the deplorable things done to you, as regrettable as they are, can't be undone. I'm so sorry, but we will have to find another solution to restore your balance of happiness." He cleared his throat and went on. The music seemed louder now, his words dancing around it like little garlands of pretty spring flowers. Fred sighed; her tits trembled. She tried to think them away, all the new flesh, the new weight, the bouncing. But her nipples tightened and from her cunt rose flares of aching lust.

"Now please bear with me, Ms Burkle, Fred. I know for sure that your superior brain must already have found the logic answer." She stared hard; his eyes were glued to hers. She had no idea what he meant. "Of course!" he cried. "So simple, so beautifully simple! If your mind can't accept your new body and we can't change the body, we have to... have to... yes?" He leaned forward, exaggerating his expressions like a kindergarten teacher. Fred stared back, wide-eyed. She had no clue. The music was everywhere inside her head now. Her whole body vibrated with the sound, but her oversized nipples and clit seemed to be afflicted the most. She stopped trying to think them away as a familiar sweet smell invaded her flaring nostrils. Pink clouds seemed to fill her brain; a deep, slow moan left her throat. Her hands could not be stopped, one slid around her monstrous left tit, fondling the cock-like nipple. The other went down her flat hard belly and into the oozing slit.

"Yes, Fred! Very good! Think, girl, think! If the body can't be changed, we'll have to change...?" Fred mirrored his nodding face.

"... de mind?"

Were they really words or just a gurgle? And was it really she who said them? She only knew that a rush of wellbeing crashed into her mind the moment she said them. A squirt of hot juices splashed on her probing hand. Warren nodded in utter bliss.

"Good girl, Fredi! A brilliant concept! Well done! Well done!!"

A proud red-and-white smile split Fredi's face. She grabbed her tit. Her hips humped and shook. She raised her long, heeled legs and spread them over the arms of her little chair. The fat clit became a pink blur between her taloned fingers. The music exploded into fountains of roaring noise. Fredi convulsed with a massive orgasm.

***

Wallace Warren sat back. He watched the exhausted girl slump into sweet oblivion, her legs hanging widely spread over the chair's arms, three fingers of her right hand up her gaping slit. A small pool of cum lined the cheeks of her fat ass, dripping off the leather towards the wooden floor. At the height of her orgasm the girl had screamed and yelled; then she'd sobbed until the last juices were squeezed out from between her fingers. Only then had she stopped torturing her left tit. Cruel nails had left angry marks; the bubbly new assets shook and trembled long after her head had lolled back in blessed unconsciousness. Warren hummed contentedly. He squirmed in his chair to make his swollen member feel more comfortable in his tightening trousers.

Warren was proud. Spraying a girl and putting her in the mental chair was all very nice and quick, but he was an artist, dammit. He loved to do things his way: subtle, clever, and slooooow. He just loved challenges. When the girl broke down in utter confusion and started masturbating, he had felt his cock jump and the adrenalin rush through his body. Wallace Warren, Superhero, dammit! The magic of his eyes, the seduction of his voice, the superior force of his intellect. Fink eat your heart out. You, stupid lab dogs in your stupid white coats... know who's the Master. Wallace Warren, Master of the Universe! Air filled his lungs; cock filled his pants. Visions of grandioso flushed his brain, but he carefully sat back in his chair.

Things were not finished, he'd only started with this sweet, clever, doomed little girl. It had only been the first tender, cruel stage in winning her over; the first elegant overture to his glorious masterpiece, an initial massage to open her up for the utter, sweet destruction of her splendid, rival mind. He took a vial from the top drawer and walked around the desk, where he held the open bottle under the girl's flaring nostrils. Her head leaned all the way back, the new long hair almost touching the ground, her fat red lips weak and open. He once more gave her a sniff from the bottle. At last, a very unladylike rattle climbed out of her gaping throat. The girl came to with a start. Warren saw that her eyes at once lost their dull sheen. She threw her spread legs together and tried to get out of the chair, but the back and arms embraced her tightly after the simple pushing of a button on a pink, slim remote control. Sorry, all challenges have their limit. Warren sat with one ass cheek on his desk, a leg dangling.

"Welcome back, Ms. Burkle, or shall we by now say Fredi? Ah yes, Fredi... so much more suitable for the sensational woman you have become." He allowed himself a tiny smile. "That was quite a show, honey. A most admirable demonstration to prove how right your little theory is. Bravo." The girl stared at him, then down between her legs at the cooling pool of cum. She looked up with disgusted eyes, a deep reddening creeping out of her bottomless cleavage. It disappeared under the permanent blush on her cheeks.

"I see you have joined me again, Fredi. So very nice as we really need your help to restore the imbalance that seems to make you so unhappy." The girl groaned. Warren returned to his seat. In front of him was a soft cloth of black velvet. On it lay a rather sizable syringe filled with a pink liquid. He touched a button on the remote and the soft music once again crawled into the room. He knew how it was carefully tuned to only affect the girl; he himself just heard Moon River, played by a synthesizer, his favorite. But he knew that for Fredi it would be a quite different tune.

"Fredi," he said, smiling. "Look at my eyes, honey. Just sit still for me and look into my eyes." He sensed the short fight but knew it would be short indeed. The slut had no chance, her brain might still be intact, but the acute little exercise from before had made it almost inaccessible. Only a few selected functions were to be reached, and right now, those were nicely stimulated. He watched her eyes glaze over again; her immense chest started panting. Quite a sight, and a welcome bonus, he thought.

"Fredi," Warren continued. "Before you rather suddenly decided to tend to your needs, we were discussing your deplorable and totally unnecessary unhappiness, remember?" The girl did not respond. She probably didn't understand a word, but her big mouth opened, and a tiny pink tongue licked the red lacquered lips to an even higher sheen. "Now once again, Fredi dear, the choice is yours. After today you will be one of the very few people in the world who can truly say that they had their fate in their own hands and changed it forever." The music turned to his other favorite, the Bolero of Ravel. Pulsing rhythms would now enter the girl's head and make it even harder for her to think. From now on he had to make it utterly simple for her, he knew. He lifted the pillow and the syringe to show it to her. She hardly shifted her gaze.

"In this syringe, darling, lie all the solutions to your unhappy little problem. Accept it and you shall be as happy as your sweet friend Cordelia is right now." At the name, the girl in the chair started. A flash of attention seemed to return to her vacant look. "Oh yes, Fredi. Cordy is very happy now, much happier than you are. She has her lovely new tits sucked; she spreads her new fat thighs wide to take in the long, strong tongue of a sweet fellow bimbo. Lucky Cordy, she has one orgasm right now tumbling over the other. Why should she have what you don't, Fredi? Why should she always have more? And why should you live on like a nerd inside your sex goddess's body? Moreover, a body so much better even than hers? A buxom, glorious dancer's body, the living envy of every stripper?" The girl's hands started fondling her body as if confirming his last words. A soft, low moan filled the air. It was drowned by the pulsing music.

"Cordy is TrippilyKlit now, you know, and she is waiting for you, Fredi," Warren went on, almost whispering. "Why make your sweet friend wait when you can give her that great sensuous body of yours? And why be Fredi? Such a dull name if you could be BounciBounce? Only you can be BounciBounce; look at yourself. Oh, I know that BounciBounce always craved to be with TrippilyKlit and prove herself to her. To feel her silken skin and just sink into that wide open body." Two fingers slid into her swelling cunt again, but Warren slapped his hand on the desk. The short, brisk sound echoed through the Bolero and made the girl stiffen. "Take your hands away, Bounci! No playtime yet, honey. Daddy needs to know your choice first, remember? Will it be this ugly, sad and bored nerd that lets her glorious body go to waste? Or will it be glorious bimbo goddess BounciBounce meeting her sweet lover TrippilyKlit? Come, girl... walk over to daddy and tell him. Give me the syringe and beg me to use it." Warren paused for a heartbeat. "Or stay in your chair and be a no fun, no good, ugly, nerdy bore."

The music swelled a bit. The rhythm sped up. For a moment Warren thought he'd lost the girl. He had undone the chair's grip; nothing would hold her back. Then her heeled hooves planted themselves firmer on the cum-slick floor and she rose. Inch after sexy inch her new body unfolded until she swayed on endless legs, topped off by her crazy melons and flaring hairdo. Warren's hands fumbled at his zipper. His eyes never left the incredible vision that sashayed over to him. Ah, God, she smiled at him and walked like a fashion model, padded like a centerfold. Flashbacks of illegal Hustler and Penthouse magazine pictures in a long forgotten teenage boy's bedroom blinded Warren's gaze. His hand now freed the tortured flesh from his boxer short. He started a slow pumping; sticky pre-cum dangled to the floor.