New! The Writer's Makeover

Throne

An author is entrapped by a hired beautician, who intends on making him into the perfect bimbo for a mysterious client! 

"Please, you don't understand."  The man strapped into the make-up chair was short and slender.  All he had on was panties and a ruffled band around is chest that covered his nipples and the next few inches below them.  "I do write those stories but I never wanted to really.... to actually..."

"Never you mind that, honey," said the woman who was looking over a selection of cosmetics.  She was Black and wore her hair natural, like an Afro, but very short.  Huge hoop earrings dangled almost to her bare shoulders.  She wore only a beauty parlor worker's apron, so that much of her voluptuous figure was shown off.  The bare sides of her large breasts were so inviting.  "Ms. Chantelle will take good care of you, MISTER Throne."

"Just let me explain."  Before he could say anything else she gave the side of his head an unexpected slap.  It wasn't hard enough to hurt him but sufficiently shocking to make him open his mouth wide.  That was when she jammed a pear-shaped gag between his lips.  It kept his jaws open wide.  She twisted something on its protruding section that made it spread more, so that it couldn't be removed.   There was an opening that ran all the way through it, which allowed him to breath easily.  She took off his glasses and set them aside.  "I know this is your fantasy, to be the helpless prisoner of a Black BBW like me, who turns you all girly.  And the person who paid for me to fulfill your dream said you would act like you didn't want it.  That's just part of your dream scenario.  I understand."

When he shook his head she simply extended cushions on either side that held it perfectly still.  He continued to plead, but only with his eyes.

She told him, "The person who bought you this session was very generous.  They're a big fan of your writing.  Isn't that nice?  And they came up with a transformation that's put together from parts of a lot of your stories.  Sounds like they favored the ones were guys get turned into complete bimbos."

His eyes went wide.  Oh no.  Not that.  But she was already working on his eyebrows.  Then came shadow and blush and a sprinkle of glitter on his cheeks.  After that Chantelle took a small hypodermic needle and jabbed it into his lips, top and bottom, in various places.  Soon the chamber was empty and his lower face felt odd.  She smiled and assured him that sensation would pass.  Then she went to work with lipstick.

After she was satisfied with everything, she placed a plastic mask over his features.  Soon it was heating up.  She explained that the increased temperature would make the special make-up penetrate his skin, where it would become permanent.  She also mentioned that his body hair would soon be gone, thanks to something that had been in the drugged drink used to get him here in the first place.  With a laugh she said he wouldn't have to worry about keeping himself smooth and pink, because the hair would never grow back.

Why couldn't he get her to listen?  He didn't want his skin to be satiny smooth and without a single hair below his eyebrows.  And he definitely didn't desire to have his face decorated with unremovable cosmetics.  But when she took the mask off and held up a mirror, he saw that the latter change had already taken place.  On top of that, the injections had caused his lips to swell up into a 'duck mouth'.  Chantelle sprayed something under his nose and within seconds he was dizzy and without willpower.  She retracted the pads alongside his head so that she could use a special tool to pierce his ears.  That was followed by inserting the hooks of heavy chandelier earrings that hung down as far as the hoops Chantelle wore.  The straps were removed from his wrists and ankles.  The gag came out of his mouth.

"There you go, sweetness.  You don't want to give me any trouble now, do you?"

He heard himself say, the words coming slowly, "No, Ms. Chantelle."|

"And how about you start using a high soft voice, like the pretty girl I'm turning you into."

This time when he spoke it was in a higher register, with a wispy quality to it.  "Of course, Ms. Chantelle."

"That spray is affecting your mind, darling.  So everything I tell you to do now, you'll keep on doing for always.  So it's important that you start to sound like a bimbo in other ways.  Not smart at all.  Interested mainly in how you look, what you're wearing, and mindless crap like reality TV shows.  Right?"

"Well, I have seen that Cashardians program, where those rich women are always fussing at each other.  I used to check it just to see their hot bodies but... but...   They dress so sexy and have great shoes.  OMG, and their hair is always the best.  I mean, I hope I can be half as perfect as them."

"That's my girl.  Plus, you have to move your hands around when you talk.  Roll your eyes.  Lick your lips."

"Right?  Because, like, I want people to notice me."  He waved a hand alongside his face, fluttered his eyelashes, and ran the tip of his tongue over his ballooned lips.  "It's special to have everybody look at you because it's... special."

"Whoa.  You are going to be SUCH a self-involved airhead.  And the way you were doing that eye thing, reminds me I've got to give you some long dark eyelashes.  I think two sets will be good.  And they're this new kind that you can wear for a month or six weeks, day and night.  Isn't that terrific?"

"That's... what you said... that word..."

"Terrific."

"Yes.  Terrific."

"Now stand up, Throne.  The best is yet to come."

When he got up she went over him with a small brush and his body hair fell away, to lay on the floor at his feet.  He looked down the length of his body and murmured appreciatively.  Then she raised his top to do the same to his chest, and lowered his panties to mid thigh to brush away what had once grown on his crotch.  Next she produced a tray with several needles on it, but much bigger ones than she had used on his lips.

"This stuff is the best," she pointed out.  "It softens the skin and makes it stretchy, gives you some delicious curves, and contains a megadose of hormones so your new figure will eventually be for keeps."

"Oh, goodie."  Throne clapped his hands and giggled.  "Curves are good."

"They sure are."  Chantelle gave him another shot of the hypnotic spray.  "They're good because guys love them.  And you want guys to be interested in you."

"I do?"

"Sure thing."

"But I'm... straight?"

"No, pretty thing.  You are all about getting with men.  You want them to put their hands all over you.  And you want to touch them right back."

"I... do.  Yes."

"That's what bimbos do.  And the best part is that those guys have cocks.  You are hooked on cock.  Can't get enough of it.  Looking at, getting your hands on, and using your mouth to pleasure them."

She went on to detail what else cocks were good for.  He wasn't enthused at first but the combination of the drug he had inhaled and her carefully chosen words soon had him obsessed with male appendages.  He was practically drooling over them.  When she started a slide show on a nearby computer screen he actually did drool a bit.  With him in that state she had no trouble making multiple injections with the large needles, putting lots of the growth formula into his chest and bottom, as well as lesser amounts in other locations.  He was dimly aware of his shape changing, gradually acquiring impressive curves that just kept growing.  She gave him a water bottle from which he greedily drank, his body needing lots of liquids to make the initial changes.  After that would come several days of a high calorie, fat-rich diet so the hormones would have something to work with as they replaced water weight with new tissue.  Before long Throne would have a body that any slutty unashamed woman would be proud to flaunt.

"One more thing for right now," Chantelle informed him.  "Because if you want to be a bimbo, the last thing you need is a regular cock.  Right?"

"That... makes... sense."

"So I'm going to do a final series of injections.  They make your cock and balls so small they won't be a problem when you're with guys.  Mainly you'll be with the guy who is sponsoring your reboot.  He'll be picking you up after everything is done, and taking you home."

"You mean I'll have just one man?"  That high whispery voice expressed disappointment.

"No, sugar.  He told me he'll be sharing you with his buddies.  And he has a lot of those."

"Oh, yum."

"Now sit back down and spread your legs, girl, so I can do this one last thing."

"To make me a real bimbo."

"Yeah.  A half-sexed one.  Heh."

The four shots had to be administered directly into his testicles, which was extremely painful, but he was determined to achieve his goal -- what he had been made to believe was his goal -- of being an ideal bimbo.  He endured it and then sat there and observed, mesmerized, as his hairless genitals grew smaller and smaller and shrank to almost nothing.

"Jeez Louise," Chantelle exclaimed.  "Your boy parts won't hardly show at all once they're in a nice snug thong."

Throne said, "Thank you, Ms. Chantelle.

His chest was swelling impressively.  There was a constant tingling in his nipples.  He asked her about that.

"How it works," she explained, "is that everything I've done, along with some of the meds in the shots I gave down below, is stimulating the pleasure centers of your brain."  When he appeared uncomprehending, which was no surprise with his dwindling bimbo intellect, she went on, "Girl, you are going to be so horny all the time."

"Oh," he said with happy understanding.  "So I can have lots of sex and it will be fun."

"Not exactly.  Since you now have a mini-dick and micro-balls, you can't finish like before.  Instead, every time you get heated up, instead of getting relief at the end, fooling around will only make you want more.  It's like an endless feedback loop."

His brow creased.  Botox later on would eliminate that.  He said, "I don't understand about a loop, but does it mean that I'll be better at making guys smile?"

"Miss Throne, you will be the absolute best at that."

"Yay!"

"And we can't call you Throne anymore.  I was thinking of changing it to Teressa.  How do you like that?"

"It's good.  But will Throne be all gone?"

"Nope.  That's my favorite part of all this.  You'll still be Throne deep down inside, after the drugs wear off.  Kind of like you're looking out through Teressa's eyes, feeling what she feels physically, also... um... tasting what she tastes.  In fact you'll even still be able to write.  Your style will be simpler, but your new owner plans to have you keep a diary that will be published on-line.  It will be presented as fiction because, honesty, who would believe all this?"

"I would," Throne said brightly.

"I'm sure.  Teressa has strawberry pudding for brains.  Speaking of which, you need to rest your mind so your new personality can put down deep roots."

"That's not bad, is it?"

"It's good for you.  Not so much for Throne.  And when you wake up, your new Master will be here to get you."

"I like that," he said drowsily.  "A whole lot."

*********

When he regained consciousness and became fully aware, his boobs had grown to immensity.  His ass jutted out dramatically.   Chantelle had him walk around and everything jiggled and wobbled non-stop.  He giggled and flapped his hands with limp wrists.  The woman who had wrought his irreversible changes helped him into a slinky dress of shiny red material.  He asked about panties but she said he wouldn't need those.  He pouted.  When she told him he would have a drawer full of them in his new home, he was thrilled.  Then he had to step into crimson shoes with ankle straps and three inch heels.  The straps were fastened with tiny heart-shaped padlocks.  In that footwear he could take only small mincing steps and his hips assumed a rolling motion.

Chantelle fed him a plate of rich pastries, washed down with a thick, calorie-laden beverage,  all intended to help make his new shape permanent.  His overly puckered lips made eating and drinking awkward but he didn't mind.  It was worth any sacrifice to be the best bimbo he could.  When Chantelle told him his new Master would be arriving soon, he was excited.  It helped that, while he had been in a dreamy state as the drugs and hormones finished their job, he had been further conditioned with tapes and videos.

The man who had financed everything showed up.  His name was Max.  He was tall, well dressed, and ruggedly handsome.  His wristwatch and diamond ring bespoke great wealth, but Teressa only understood that in a basic way.  She was distracted by his maleness and the bulge in the crotch of his tailored slacks.  This was going to be so fun.

At the same time, Throne was watching Max's arrival with anxiety.  The man had lust in his eyes.  Throne still thought of himself as a straight guy.  But he was imprisoned in that overly feminine body and controlled by an unsophisticated and pleasure-centered mind.

Teressa was ready to put all the bedroom lessons she had been subliminally taught to good use.  In short, she wanted a cock in her mouth and then somewhere else.  Maybe two at once.

Throne was dreading those inevitabilities.  They were repugnant to him but the choices about what his body did were no longer his.  They belonged to the ruling persona, which was Teressa's.

Already the two minds were thinking about the first of their diary entries.  And the many that would follow.