Becoming Bimbo

Chapter 2

It was days later when John told me about the new rules I would have to follow. “Dress sexy,” he said. Then he showed me a picture of a Japanese girl. She was dressed in a blue PVC skirt and matching bustier and impossibly high heeled shoes. Her clothes were overly tight and her breasts were too large for her frame and nearly pushed out of her top.

“This is how I want you to dress. It’s the same way my client’s wives dress. I want to be able to show you off to them,” he said. “I want you to be a perfect little bimbo for me.”

I knew what he wanted and it disgusted me. God, what else could I do, though? I had trapped myself. I could do as he wanted or I could lose him. So I agreed. I would be his bimbo.

“I’m leaving on a business trip in a week. Get your passport ready and get some new clothes so you can come along next time,” he ordered. “I’ll be back in two weeks. I want to be impressed.”

For the next week, while he was at work, I checked the internet for places I could get clothes that would make him happy. I searched all the search engines for ‘bimbo clothes’ and ‘PVC clothes’ and other relevant search terms. I wanted to be ready when he got back. I even began acting like the bimbos in the stories I read. He was hard on me that week. Not cruel but not pleasant. Nor was he polite. Most nights that week he demanded I take to my knees and suck his cock the moment he sat down. There was never a night he didn’t fuck my ass or piss in my mouth.

It was Saturday when I dropped him at the airport. When he got back, he promised, he would have a better idea of what he wanted from me ‘on a more permanent basis’. I was left with him echoing the sentiment of his earlier statement ‘I want to be impressed’. I was not going to let him down, no matter how much I rebelled inwardly.

“One more thing, I want you to get a treadmill and when you walk around the house I want you to wear this around your ankles,” he said, handing me a short chain that attached to two leather cuffs. “I want you to learn to walk with short mincing steps. I want it to be normal for you. Don’t let me down.”

“I’ll wear it. I promise,” I told him. He kissed me on the cheek and got out of the car, taking his suitcase from the back seat and headed to the terminal.

Left alone with my thoughts, I drove home. It was raining that night. A rare thing for Los Angeles but it suited my mood. I was sad and angry with myself for cheating on him and I was terrified, too; terrified that he might still leave me even after I complied with his wants. Still, I knew there nothing for it. I had to do what I was told.

Two weeks later I got the call. He would be arriving at LAX at seven twenty-five that night. I was ready for him. Not only had I learned to walk in short mincing steps but I had learned to do so in the highest of heels. It had been difficult at first but I had acclimated fairly quickly. I had also purchased a wide array of PVC clothing in various colors and done enough research to more fully understand what he wanted from me. I would be ready for him when he arrived, no matter how embarrassing or humiliating it might be.

It was seven when I arrived at the airport. After parking the car I stepped out wearing bright blue plastic high heeled shoes and a matching skirt and top. I took a look at my reflection in the car window and felt ridiculous. My breasts aren’t small, especially for my height, but they looked absolutely huge in my tight PVC top and I worried that they might fall out with my first step. Suddenly, I felt like the bimbo I was made up to be. I told myself not to think about it but there was no getting around the looks I got as I minced my way to the terminal. No one ignores a girl dressed as I was, especially other women and especially walking as I was.

It was a long wait. His plane was late by forty-five minutes and I was forced to endure luring eyes and a few unpleasant comments. Worse, I had to tell off a couple of guys after they groped me. By the time I saw him walking into the terminal waiting area I was nearly ready to cry and I practically ran into his arms.

“Hi, baby,” he said, pulling me into his embrace.

There was a surprising warmth in his voice. It was almost as if he had forgotten my cheating.

“Hi, Daddy,” I replied.

“Mmm, I like that,” he said before kissing me full on the lips. “Let’s get my suitcase and get home.”

We didn’t have to wait long. The baggage carousel got moving rather quickly and his suitcase was out shortly after that. Minutes later we were heading north on the 405 freeway and heading for home. We chatted a bit before he announced he was tired of talking and pushed my head into his lap.

“I like your little girl voice. It’s very bimbo-like,” he told me while I sucked his cock. “I can’t wait to fuck your ass when we get home.”

By the time we pulled into the garage I was more than ready to stop sucking his cock. My jaw was sore and my lips were nearly numb. Unfortunately, he had other things on his mind.

“If your mouth gets too full to swallow press on the ridge under my cock. It’ll stop the flow,” he told me as he placed his hands on my head.

I was confused at what he was talking about. Then the taste of piss filled my mouth and I understood his meaning. This was different from the other times he had made me drink his piss. I was in control of it; stopping the flow when I got too full and then letting it resume when I had swallowed. Somehow, it was more humiliating and I felt lower than I had ever felt.

“Was that good, baby?” he asked after his bladder was empty.

“Yes, Daddy,” I said, smiling up at him.

He ignored the mascara that ran down my cheeks. He ignored the tears. He didn’t seem to care and, for some reason, I didn’t either. I earned my place as a toilet and could only pray that he would ease up on me soon.

“Let’s get inside,” he said, pushing me from him.

As we reached the bedroom he dropped his suitcase and began removing his clothes. “Get naked,” he told me. “Did you get the treadmill?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I said, offering up a little giggle.

“You know, Michelle,” he began, “I’m going to be heading to Japan in a month. I want to take you with me.”

“That would be fun, Daddy,” I said, slipping out of my outfit.

“One thing…”

“What is it, Daddy?” I asked.

“I don’t think that your name is a good name for a bimbo. Do you?”

“I don’t know. Is there a better name?” I asked, becoming more disgusted with myself and my little girl voice by the moment.

“I think so. How does ‘Brandi’ sound?”

I giggled at him, praying to all the gods who ever existed that he was joking. “That sounds silly,” I said.

“Well, bimbos are silly and I think they need silly names. I think we’ll change your name to Brandi,” he said. “What do you think?”

I fought down my anger for a moment, hesitating at my answer. For a moment I wanted to scream and tell him what a prick he was being.

“I think a silly girl with a silly name would be perfect for me. I could trust a girl like that,” he said.

My stomach knotted just then. He knew what he was doing and he knew I knew. So I swallowed my pride, smiled and giggled like a dim-witted bimbo, hating myself for it, and cheerfully replied. “It’s a good name, Daddy!” I said.

“Then it’s settled, Brandi!” he said with a smile.

“Settled,” I echoed.

“Let’s shower, Brandi,” he said.

He fucked me in the walk-in shower. First he made me suck his cock and lick his asshole. Then he pushed me to my knees, got behind me and fucked me. It felt good – like when he used to fuck me – until he fucked my ass. I hated ass fucking and prayed for the day when his anger would subside and we could make love like normal couples. But I knew I would have to endure his ire until then. So I bent my head down and took it in my ass, crying under the heat of the splashing water.

It was the next day when John showed me the pair of high heeled tennis shoes he had purchased for me to wear on the treadmill. I thought it rather an odd thing but he told me they were common in Japan. After presenting them to me John informed me I was to begin a daily workout routine on the treadmill. For the first week he only expected me to walk the treadmill for fifteen minutes at a time but that it would increase after the first week to thirty minutes twice a day and then to an hour.

“Your legs are nice but I think they can be a bit better,” he told me. I took it as a compliment even if it was a bit back handed.

“Okay, Daddy,” I said. “I’ll make my legs perfect for you.”

For the next month life was rather pleasant. I trained regularly on the treadmill, even learning to walk quite quickly with the mincing gait he insisted on. For my efforts, John was pleasantly complimentary and always took the time to let me know. Just the same, if I ever forgot my bimbo routine he would let me know with stern, if not unkind, words.

Unfortunately, while life was generally pleasant, our sex life was not. More often than not he would make me suck his cock or take it in my ass. I hated ass fucking. It didn’t hurt so much anymore but I hated it. Then, shortly before we were to head to Japan he announced that he no longer had an interest in my pussy.

“From now on,” he said, “I only want your ass and mouth. You may as well not have a pussy as far as I’m concerned.”

He kept true to his word.