BimboTech: Proving A Theory

posted in: Mind Control, Stories | 0

Mind Control

By The Sympathetic Devil

I checked the device in my pocket–it was fully charged and ready. I
took a deep breath, calmed myself and entered the faculty lounge.
Including myself, it was now full of half a dozen sociology professors.
Only one of them was important to me though: my target, Dr. Cynthia
Lowe.

The middle aged woman with the tight brunette bun, mannish gray suit,
and horn-rimmed glasses was drinking tee, pinkie extended, and talking
to the cute new red-headed assistant professor who looked like she was
contemplating slitting her wrists to get out of the conversation. I
was about to help her out; I needed Cynthia all to myself.

“I just don’t understand it!” I exclaimed, “These students are actually
stupider than the last batch! Is there something in the water?”

Actually, I like my students stupid–makes my job easier–but I knew my
statement would bring out the beast–Cynthia Lowe’s Theory.

“It’s quite simple, really,” Cynthia began her pontification, turning to
me, eyebrow raised, “In order for a society to produce intelligent
offspring, you need intelligent parents. But you don’t get that in our
society because men consistently seek out women of lower intelligence
than themselves to mate with.”

My other colleagues shot me dirty looks. Still, i pushed ahead.

“Well, even assuming that was true, and I’m not mind you, wouldn’t the
intelligence of the father be dominant over the lower intelligence of
the mother? Why would stupidity be selected for?”

Dr. Lowe snorted derisively.

“You’ve been spending to much time around geneticists! Nurture has much
more to do with intelligence than nature. And who does the lion’s
share of child rearing in our society? The women! But not just any
women–those women whose intelligence is sufficiently low as to not
threaten the egos of their husbands! And so little girl’s have stupid
women for role models and little boys Oedipal complexes cause them to
be attracted to women like their stupid mothers, they grow up and the
cycle repeats itself, creating stupider women _and_ men with every
generation!”

I causally sat across from Cynthia, stoking my chin. The hot red head
wisely abandoned her proximity to the coming argument.

“That’s awfully Freudian of you, Dr. Lowe,” I said, knowing it would get
a rise out of her.

“Just because Freud was a sexist pig doesn’t mean he didn’t have insight
into _male_ behavior. Indeed, being a sexist pig put him in a unique
position to understand his…fellows. Little boys grow up to want
women like their mothers and the most intelligent women in our society
don’t breed!”

I kept engaging her, pushing her to expound more and more on the theory
that, behind her back, everyone agreed was developed solely to explain
why all three of her marriages had ended within a year. A pragmatist
would find the fact that she was a self-centered derisive bitch a much
more plausible explanation.

As predicted, the more I encouraged Cynthia to preach her bullshit, the
more people remembered other places they should be. Soon it was just
Cynthia and me in the faculty lounge. It was time to test my own
little theory that there were much better used for Dr. Lowe’s mouth
than spouting ultrafeminist crap.

“Well, Cynthia, it’s a fascinating theory but it’s rather difficult to
prove.”

“Difficult? The proof is all around you. Just take a tour of the
undergraduate campus. The ditzy blonde bimbos are surrounded by boys
while the bookish girls focused on their studies are completely
ignored!”

“Perhaps, but that is merely anecdotal evidence. To do a truly
controlled experiment, you’d have to eliminate all extraneous factors
and just focus on intelligence.

“But how could I do that?”

“Well, I can think of two possible ways: You could find one of the
ditzy blonde bimbos you mentioned and increase her intelligence
substantially, measuring her social interactions before and after; Or
you could do the opposite study, take an intelligent woman and reduce
her IQ to bimbo levels and determine if males find her more
attractive.”

“You can’t just change a woman’s intelligence level! Even if you could
it would be highly unethical!”

“Actually, my brother is a researcher at a place called BimboTech Inc.
and he claims it’s a very simple process once you understand it. You
could even build a small device to do it, like this one.”

I pulled out the black box.

“What’s that?”

“My brother calls it the Bimbotron 5000. It works like this.”

<click>

“Hey! What are you….What the….Wha….I feel….I feel funny…”

“That’s to be expected, Cynthia. What the Bimbotron 5000 does is create
infinite logic loops in your thought processes, kind of like a computer
virus. The loops take up more and more of your intelligence until you
reach the desired level, then it reaches equilibrium.”

Cynthia’s head got wobbly, as if the room was spinning around her.

“Feels….goooooood.” she said.

“Yes, that’s a side effect of the infinite loops. Instead of producing
actual thought, they produce euphoria. It’s a harmless side effect.”

Actually, it was much more than a side effect. The way my brother
explained it, his little toy made the brain feel so damned good that
resisting the rearrangement was, well, unthinkable.

“Now, the more intelligent a woman is when we start out, the greater the
number of loops and so the greater sense of euphoria. Considering how
smart you were, Cynthia, you should be feeling an incredible urge
to…”

HEheeheeheeheeheeheeEEP!”

“Yes, precisely. An incredible urge to giggle. Well I think it’s safe
to say that your brain has been thoroughly looped.”

“Is that why I feel loopy? <giggle>”

“Yes, you silly little bitch, that’s exactly why.”

Professor Lowe just giggled. I’m not sure if she was too dumb to
realize she’d been insulted or felt too good to care. Not that it
mattered.

“Well, Cynthia dear, I think were ready to test your theory.”

“I have a theory?” she asked, face blank as she tried futilely to
remember.

“Yes, Cynthia, your theory that being stupid will help you get laid!”

“Ooooh,” she said as if grasping a difficult concept. “Will it work?”

“Yes, Dr. Lowe, I think you can count on it!”

“Oh goodie!”

“Now for the purpose of the experiment, I think we need to distinguish
you before the IQ reduction and after. How about during this phase of
the experiment we call you Cindi.”

“Cindi?” she asked.

“Yes, I think that’s probably best. You might find Cynthia a little
hard to spell now.”

Cindi giggled a that.

“So lets practice. Say ‘Hi, My name’s Cindi!'”

“Hi! My name’s Cindi! <giggle>”

“That’s perfect, Cindi! Absolutely perfect!”

She beamed at the praise.

“Well, let’s go test your theory!”

“O.K.!”

Grinning like an idiot, she cheerfully followed me. My original plan
was to let her spend a day embarrassing the hell out of herself, but
seeing the bitch’s brain melt before me had given me an itch that
needed scratching. I decided would take her home and give her a body
to match her new brain. I grinned at the prospect.

“Hi! My name’s Cindi!”

I spun around. ‘Cindi’ was smiling vacuously at a very confused graduate
student.

“H…Hello, Dr. Lowe,” he said.

I recognized him as one of the students who had taken his prelim exam
last month. Cynthia had really reamed him, asking damn near impossible
questions and doing her best to make him feel like shit. He’d probably
never seen her smile and no one had ever heard her giggle like she now
did when he called her Dr. Lowe.

I was in a hurry to get Cindi thoroughly bimbofied but I figured, ‘What
the hell!” The kid probably deserved a little something. I went to a
small conference room and checked that it was empty.

“Derek, could you step in here for just a moment. Dr. Lowe and I could
use your input on a research study we’re conducting.” I asked the grad
student.

Looking questioningly at us, he hesitantly did as instructed.

“Now Cindi, to be a bimbo you need to suck on his penis until he squirts
in your mouth. And make sure you swallow!”

With a pat on her ass, I propelled her giggling into the room.

“What the?” said Derek.

“Just relax and go with it” I said. “It’s a special research project.”

I shut the door and stood watch.

“What’s all this about, Dr. Lowe?” he asked the giggling professor.

“My name’s Cindi,” she corrected. “I’m supposed to suck your penis!”

“You are?” he asked, unaccustomed to any woman propositioning him so
frankly, let alone the department’s uber-bitch.

“Don’t you want me to?” asked Cindi, looking utterly clueless as to the
unorthodoxy of the situation.

“No! I mean, Yes, I mean…if you want to…”

Unusual or no, I imagine he had never turned down a blow job before and
he wasn’t about to start now!

“I’m ‘supposed to,” Cindi explained and dropped to her knees so she
could reach.

“Well…if you’re supposed to,” the student agreed as she undid his
pants and pulled out his dick.

“I’ve never done this before,” said Cindi, “Is it fun?”

“Um yeah,” he said, “Really fun!”

“You’re gonna love it, Cindi!” I told her.

“<giggle> Oh goodie!” she said and slipped her lips around his cock.

Derek stared in amazement as the giggling professor awkwardly sucked his
dick. She was lousy at it, but having the bitch who had made his
prelims hell on her knees with his cock in her mouth was enough to make
him hard. Whatever was making her act like this and whatever happened
later, he knew it was worth it.

“I always knew that deep down you were a cocksucker, Dr. Lowe.” I
observed and Derek grinned at me.

“Finbee” she corrected around his cock and giggled.

“Cindi. Right. Cindi the slut!”

The professor giggled at this and at last Derek figured it out.

“Cindi the cum-eating slut bitch!” he called her, grinning wickedly.

MmmHmmm! MmmmHmmm!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright and vacant.

“That’s right, Derek,” I encouraged, “Give the slut what she needs. Her
brain is totally fried and she’s not gonna remember any of this.”

The kid’s face lit up with a cruel delight.

“You fucking cunt!” he called her, “You skanky little cock sucker!”

My brain-fucked colleague just giggled as her student insulted her and
treated her like a whore. It was a beautiful thing. It was enough to
push young Derek over the edge.

“Oh yeah! Oh yeah!” he yelled, “Here it comes! Swallow it, whore!
Swallow it all!”

Cindi gulped and giggled and the grad student shot his wad into her
throat. He pulled his flaccid dick out and wiped it on her grinning,
vacuous face, then he collapsed into a chair, looking pretty
dumbfounded himself.

“Thank you for your participation in our study,” I said, helping my
sticky-faced colleague to her feet. “I trust you will keep this all
strictly confidential.”

“What…oh…yeah…confidential,” he said, clearly still amazed at what
had just happened.

“Take care, kid. And pull your pants up,” I advised, then ushered the
giggling Dr. Lowe out of the room, out of the building, and into my
convertible.

“Here, Cindi,” I said, handing her a handkerchief as I pulled out of the
parking lot. “You’ve got jizz on your face.”

She stared at the white cloth, grinning.

“Um, Wipe your face with it,” I explained.

“Okay!” she said and did.

“Good girl,” I said, patting her knee which felt bony beneath those
pin-striped slacks. I could take care of that at home if what my
brother said was true though.

“Say, do you need those glasses?” I asked.

“Only to see,” she said.

“Well then, if that’s all why don’t you get rid of them?”

“Okay!” she said and tossed the ugly things out onto the street as we
turned towards the freeway.

“That’s a little better, hey Cindi? Now why don’t you let your hair
down? After all, I don’t think we’ll be going back to the department
until we’ve thoroughly tested your theory.”

“I have a theory?” she asked, blinking.

“Yes, you have a theory that bimbos get fucked more than pretentious
bitches. That’s why you want me to make you a bimbo.”

“Ooooh!” she said.

“Now let your hair down like a good bimbo,” I insisted.

She took the clips out of her bun and ran her fingers through her dark
hair, giggling as the wind took hold of it. She was looking more and
more the part, but I wanted the works. And my dear brother had sent me
everything I needed to make Cindi as much a bimbo as Cynthia had been a
bitch. I floored it, anxious to get my science project home.

“Weeeeeee!” my colleague exclaimed.

* * * *

By the time I got her to my secluded residence, I had easily convinced
her to toss her suit out onto the freeway. Giggling in her underwear
with her hair blowing in the wind, she wasn’t bad looking. A bit
skinny and bony, but not bad, especially in contrast to her usual
outfits. Still, I could make her better. Much better. I led her down
to my basement and the larger of my brother’s gifts.

“What’s that?” she asked, eyes wide, pointing at the big glass tank
filled with greenish liquid.

“That’s another invention my brother came up with. He calls it the Body
Augmenter Rendering Bimbos Intensely Erotic.”

“Huh?” asked Cindi.

“You can just call it the BARBIE machine.”

She giggled at that.

“Now take the rest of your clothes off and climb in,” he instructed.

“In there?” she exclaimed.

“Yes. We have to fix your body so you can be a real bimbo. This
machine will do that.”

“Will it give me big boobies?” she asked. Dr. Lowe had a tiny rack.

“Yes, it will. Now loose the undies, up the ladder, and into the pool,”
I said, slapping her ass.

Giggling, she did as she was told. She plunged into the green liquid.
It was super-oxygenated and somehow she was able to breath (and giggle)
completely immersed in it. I put in the desired specs, pushed the
‘bimbo’ button, and watched the magic happen.

The grinning, jiggling, dripping mess that came out of the tank was a
wonder to behold. Only the face still resembled Dr. Cynthia Lowe, and
even that only slightly, given the vacuous, horny expression completely
foreign to the professors face before today. The hair on her head had
grown out a foot and a half, gained volume, and been bleached ashe
blonde. The hair that crowned her pussy was the same color. Her tits,
as per request, were jutting, bouncing orbs the size of cantaloupes.
Her hips and ass had fleshed out nicely as well, giving her an
hourglass figure that melted into the most luscious legs anyone could
wish for.

“Did it work?” asked the ditzy blonde bimbo.

“Oh boy did it ever!” I declared.

WooHoo!” exclaimed Cindi, jumping up and down, setting her inflated
hooters to bouncing and drawing her attention to them. She grabbed
hold of them with both hands hand and stared with wide-eyed wonder.

“I got big boobies!” she exclaimed.

“That’s certainly overstating the obvious,” I chuckled.

She grabbed a tit with each hand and giggled as she hefted them and
confirmed they were real. She pinched the puffy nipples and they
thrust forward.

“Ooooo!” she cried, “Yummy!”

The big breasted blonde began playing with her knockers, kneading,
pinching, pressing together, rubbing. As she did so, she giggled,
cooed and squealed.

“Cindi,” I said, “Cindi!”

I snapped my fingers to get her attention.

The wet bimbo looked up from her new boobies.

“Hi, I’m Cindi!” she said.

“Yes, I know. I’m Dr. Jones, remember?”

Cindi giggled.

“Oops! I forgot!”

“That’s o.k. Do you like the effects of the BARBIE machine?”

“I have big boobies!” she said.

I didn’t know if that was a response to his question or not. I guess
it didn’t matter.

“Yes, they’re very nice boobies, aren’t they?”

“Mmmm” said Cindi, continuing to rub her mammaries, “Boobies feel good.
Cindi feels good. So warm and nice!”

“Yes, you should be feeling very nice. Besides the obvious physical
changes, the Barbie machine adjusts your nerves and hormones to ramp up
your libido and make your erogenous zones much more responsive.”

“Huh?” said Cindi.

“Cindi likes to fuck,” I summarized.

“Yeah!” Cindi nodded vigorously. “Cindi loves to fuck!”

“Well then get your ass upstairs so I can fuck you, you dumb bimbo!”

Cindi giggled and scampered up the stairs and I followed, observing that
the machine had done as nice a job on her ass as it had on her tits. I
slapped her bare-naked ass and she giggled.

“Cindi get fucked now?” she asked when they reached the top of the
stairs.”

I had planned to do her in the bedroom, but seeing my feminist colleague
transformed into the bimbo before me had left me so hard that climbing
the stairs from the basement was difficult and going up another flight
to my bed seemed pointless when there was a perfectly good couch right
there in the living room.

“OK, but I want you to ask me for it.” I told the naked bimbo.

“Huh?” said Cindi.

“Say ‘Please fuck me Dr. Jones,” I clarified.

“Ooooh <giggle> O.K. Please fuck me Dr. Jones! Please fuck Cindi
good!”

“As you wish, Dr. Lowe.” I chuckled, working my trousers off with care
for my swollen member.

Cindi looked around for Dr. Lowe.

“That’s you, Cindi.” I reminded.

She blinked, then giggled. “Oh year–I forgot!” she said.

“Well, you didn’t forget that you’re a cock-sucking cumslut, did you?” I
asked, sitting bare assed on the couch with my stiff rod pointed at
her. Cindi giggled and shook her head, staring hungrily at my cock.

“Well then, get on your knees and blow me, bimbo!” I demanded.

Giggling and continuing to pull on her left nipple, the transformed
professor knelt between my legs and took my hard cock in her hand and
started licking and giggling.

“Damn you’re a bimbo,” I said.

MmmHmmm!” she said, opening wide to take my cock into her mouth. She
bobbed her head along my shaft but had a hard time keeping a rhythm
between giggles and gags.

“God, Cindi, Maybe you were as smart as you thought you were. I never
would have thought the process would leave you too stupid to give a
blow job!”

Cindi giggled and looked up at me with a vacuous stare.

“Still, having you kneel before my cock is more important than having
you be any good at it, right my little cock sucker?”

MmHmm-gack!” she said around my cock.

“All right then,” I said, pushing her off my rod. “You’re certainly not
too stupid to fuck.”

“Cindi likes to fuck!” she agreed.

“Well good, cuz Cindi’s gonna get fucked raw!” I declared. “Up you go,
bimbo!”

I pulled her up by the wrist and positioned her kneeling on the couch
and bending over to rest her hands on the arm.

“I’m gonna fuck you doggie style, since you’ve always been such a bitch
up until today,” I explained.

“Ruff!” exclaimed Cindi, then wiggled her ass and giggled.

“That’s the spirit!” I exclaimed, slapped her ass and then positioned
myself behind her.

“Ready to fuck?” I asked, rubbing the head of my cock against her
swollen wet cuntlips.

“Yeah!” exclaimed the bimbofied professor.

“Say please, Cindi,” I chided.

“Pleeeeeese!” she cried. “Please fuck Cindi! Cindi loves to fuck!
Cindi needs to fuck!”

“Consider yourself fucked,” I said, slamming my man meat into her cooze.

“Ooooooo!” she exclaimed, pushing back onto my shaft with a wet slurp.

A shudder went through her new bimbo body. My brother had warned me
about this part. The body modification had made it so that, once
anything entered her cunt, she would go into a sort of ‘hyperfuck’
mode. It started some sort of positive feedback loop of lust and
pleasure. However it worked, my cock in her cunt drove her absolutely
wild.

“Ung-uh-ung-uh-ung-uh!” she exclaimed, her hips bucking, grinding her
ass into me.

“Fuck! Fuck! Like to fuck! Like to fuck! Love to fuck!” she
exclaimed fanatically.

“That’s right, Cindi, you were made to fuck!” I told her, grabbing hold
of her hips hand humping her hard.

FuckMeFuckMeFuckMe!” she shouted, then started panting and squeaking
until I thought she might hyperventilate.

Her cunt was just devouring my cock. It was like nothing I’ve ever
felt before–like it had a mind of its own and had but one goal in
life: Sucking the jism out of me, I didn’t hold out for long and soon
I was shooting my wad into the bimbofied Dr. Cynthia Lowe. It was a
dream come true.

“Damn, Bimbo, you are quite the hot fuck!” I exclaimed.

She giggled and wiggled her ass, grinding it into me as my spunk ran
down her leg.

“Cindi likes to fuck!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, well Cindi is making a fucking mess,” I said, pulling out. “Lick
that spooge up before it stains.”

The dumb little tart obediently started licking once I showed her where
she was dripping, then her face lit up in amazement.

“Yummy!” she exclaimed, then resumed her task in earnest. I chuckled,
remembering that my brother had said the BARBIE machine would rearrange
her taste buds to make cum taste like the most delicious thing ever.
The stupid whore finished cleaning the couch then tried to lick her own
thighs, finally realizing she would have better luck scraping it off
with her hands.

“Why Professor Lowe, I do believe you are a jiz-sucking skank,” I told
her.

She giggled as she happily licked her fingers.

“Once I’m hard again, I’m going to fuck you up the ass. Would you like
that?”

“Uh-huh!” she said, nodding enthusiastically.

“I thought so. In the meantime, get your bare slut ass into the
kitchen. I have an idea of how you can pass the time while you’re
waiting to get your ass fucked.”

She obediently scrambled up and wobbled toward the kitchen, still
unaccustomed to the weight of her massive hooters.

“Up on the table, cupcake,” I said as I went to the refrigerator and
pulled out a big cucumber and a big carrot.

“Are we gonna make a salad?” Cindi asked as she sat on the kitchen table
swinging her feet.

“No, bimbo, we’re going to shove the cucumber up your cunt and the
carrot up your ass,” I explained.

Her eyes got wide and she giggled.

“So I’m gonna be a salad?” she asked.

“Well, you’ve got all the brains of a head of lettuce,” I observed, “So,
yes, I guess that you’ll be a salad. With a couple of big firm
tomatoes.”

She clapped her hands and giggled when I tapped her tits with the
veggies.

“All right,” I said, handing her a bottle of olive oil, “Grease up the
cuke and fuck yourself with it.”

“Is this my salad dressing?” she asked.

“Yes, yes…It’s your fucking salad dressing.”

Cindi giggled and drizzled oil all over the cucumber, then poured some
more on her ‘tomatoes’.

“I’m gonna be a salad! I’m gonna be a salad!” she sang.

“That’s right, salad girl,now stick that fat cuke in your twat.”

She did as she was told, pressing the oil-dripping vegetable between her
cuntlips. As she met resistance, I saw her face light up as one again
her turbo-charged pussy kicked her libido into high gear.

“Cindi likes this!” she exclaimed, pushing harder, “Cindi likes this a
lot! Oh! Oh! Oh! Yes! Cindi Likes! Cindi Likes!”

Her legs spread wider and wider as she pushed the thing deeper into her,
her expression one of raw, unthinking lust as she fell over onto her
side in her efforts to push the vegetable deeper into her cunt.

“Okay, Cindi, bend over the table and I’ll give you something else that
you’ll like.”

She had a hard time understanding me, what with the barrage of impulses
from her pussy overwhelming her limited thought processes, but with
some encouraging nudges, I got her feet on the ground, her face resting
on the table, all without having to make her stop humping the cuke.
She continued to push it in with one hand, the other hand finding her
clit and twiddling it, driving herself into more of a frenzy.

“Oh yes! Oh yes! Cindi likes! Cindi likes!” she exclaimed as she
mashed her face into the table.

“Cindi’s going to like this too,” I said as I oiled the carrot and
pressed the tapered end to her bunghole.

“Huh?” she exclaimed as I lined it up, then I slammed it home, six
inches deep.

“Eeeeeee!” she squeaked, her whole body quivering at the new sensation.

“Does Cindi like having things shoved up her asshole?” I asked.

“Cindi Likes!” she exclaimed, and banged her head three times against
the table. “Cindi Likes!”

She wiggled her ass, moving the carrot about and pushing back to try to
get it deeper.

“Cindi is such a skanky slut,” I observed.

“Skanky slut! Skanky slut! Cindi is a skanky slut! ” she exclaimed and
once again started working the cucumber as I started to piston the
carrot. “OooEeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

I was watching Cynthia Lowe call herself a skanky slut while going
hyperorgasmic over what I assume was her first double-vegetable
penetration. Is it any wonder that I soon found myself with a serious
second wind in the woody department? The carrot had done it’s job
well, but it was time to retire it. Cynthia may have been a
vegetarian, but Cindi had a taste for meat. I oiled up my tool, lined
myself up, and pushed my prick into her tight little asshole.

AahEeegh!” she exclaimed as cock replaced carrot.

She looked back and I grinned wickedly.

“Time to get assfucked, slut-muffin,” I told her.

She grinned and giggled.

“Yeah! Assfuck! Assfuck!”

Despite the carrot warming her up for me, she was still awful tight.
But being as she was so delighted to get assfucked, I couldn’t
disappoint her, right? After all, I couldn’t just go turning my
colleague into a horny bimboslut and then leave her ass unfucked–that
would be wrong! So I did my duty and pushed onward, deeper into her
asshole. I was rewarded for my efforts by quivering squeezes of my
cock by her sphincter as I slowly made my way inside. Cindi grunted
and squealed and continued to work the cucumber in her cunt. At last,
I made my down to the hilt and my pubes tickled her ass cheeks.

“Oh yeah, Cindi-slut! Such a nice tight hole! Would you like some hot
spunk in your trunk?”

I took her incoherent squeaking as a yes and started humping. She
started to loosen up a bit and moisten and soon I was pistoning like
crazy, slamming again and again into her ass. Her moaning and
squealing made a little crescendo with every thrust. Finally I threw
my head back and bellowed as I gave the bimbo a back-door delivery.

Panting, I pulled my deflating dick out. Cindi was still going nuts
over the cucumber in her cunt. I pulled it out of her and she sighed
and resumed a wobbly up right position. She smiled, her eyes
practically spinning in her head.

“Cindi liked that!” she exclaimed.

* * * *

“Where are we going?” Cindi asked as we drove out into the night.
Having fucked her all afternoon, in every hole, all over my house, I
had hosed her down and dressed her in a trashy red dress my brother had
sent as a little extra.

“To test your theory,” I told her.

“Oh…What theory?”

“Well, remember this morning you were a smart college professor?”

“I was? Oh yeah, that was me, wasn’t it <giggle>.”

“Yes, it was. And professor Cynthia never got laid, so she was very
sad.”

“Awwww.”

“So you thought that maybe if you were a stupid bimbo, boys would want
to fuck you. That’s why I made you into a stupid bimbo–so you could
find out!”

“Ooooh,” she said. “Find out what?”

“Find out if boys will screw you.”

“I like to screw. <giggle>.”

“Yes, I noticed. But a proper experiment should be repeatable. So
we’re going to a kegger that some of the fraternities are throwing out
in the woods. I think your theory is going to prove very accurate.”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed. “That’s good, right?”

“Oh, very good,” I assured her and she resumed playing with her left
tit.

I pulled on to a private drive there in the woods. I had long ago come
up deal with the frat boys: I’d buy liquor for them and they’d let me
come scam on drunken coeds. It had been a nice source of bimbo poon
before my brother taught me how to make my own.

The college boys eyes bulged as the blonde bimbo approached the bonfire,
her inflated gazongas wrestling beneath her tight red halter.

“Hi! My name’s Cindi!”

“Well, Cindi, looks like the boys want to get to know you,” I said and,
slapping her miniskirted ass, sent her giggling into the fray.

Instantly, four guys were offering her plastic cups of beer. An
argument broke out about who had offered first, but Cindi quelled it
when she promised to drink all that she had been offered. The guys
grinned wolfishly and proceeded to cheer her on as she gulped them
down.

“Hey, din’ I already drink yours?” she asked as she was handed her sixth
beer.

“Uh, no…that was my twin brother,” the kid lied.

“Oh <giggle> thas so cool! You look just like him.”

She took the beer and guzzled it. I sauntered over.

“How many beers have you had, Cindi?”

“How many? Gosh…ummmmm,” she looked at her red-nailed fingers and
tried to count, “There was the firs one, and then there was a ‘nother
one so thas two and then afer that was…”

Her eyes crossed and she giggled.

“Math is hard!”

I chuckled.

“Well, let’s just assume you’ve had a number bigger than two.” he said,
“You’d better be carefully or these boys’ll get you drunk!”

“They will?” Cindi asked.

Thinking I was about to foil their plans with Cindi, the boys’ faces
fell. I figured I’d show them just what sort of bimbo they were
dealing with.

“So, to keep from getting drunk, I want you to make sure that if a boy
gives you a beer, that you take a little sip of this first.”

I handed her a bottle.

“Vvvv…Vod…What is it?”

“It’s a special Russian drink they drink with beer so they won’t get too
drunk.”

“Oooh <giggle> Thanks Dr. Jones!”

The young men stared in amazement.

“Here, try it!” I said, taking the top off the vodka. She took a big
gulp, then hiccupped, setting her boobs to bouncing.

“I feel dizzy,” she said.

“That’s just a side effect. It’ll go away once you pass out.”

“O.K. <giggle> <hic!>

I grinned at the boys.

“Hey Cindi, I think the boys want to see your boobies.”

“Really?” exclaimed Cindi, perking up considerably. “Yzhough wanna shee
my boobie?”

“Uh…Yeah!” said one frat boy, the one with the twin brother.

Cindi giggled, blushed, and pulled up her halter.

TaDa!” she said as her boobs bounced and the boys boggled.

Cindi giggled and hiccupped and giggled some more. More of the crowd
was taking notice of Cindi now, and with good reason.

“I think everybody wants to see her boobies boys. Why don’t you put her
on your shoulders and parade her about the fire?”

“I love parades!” declared Cindi.

The young men hoisted her up above the crowd, who cheered. Raising her
hands high above her head she giggled, hiccuped and shook her her boobs
at the frenzied college students, some of whom she had lectured to the
day before. Not that any of the students saw any connection with the
bouncing blonde bimbo before them and the dreaded Dr. Cynthia Lowe. If
I hadn’t watched it happen, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.

I left Cindi with her new friends and wandered about the campfire. Ah,
there were Bonnie and Maggie
two third year freshmen who were always
glad to make a professor happy in exchange for a B or a bottle of uzo.
It looked like they had already made several trips to the keg and they
were shouting at each other drunkenly over the boom box.

“…an so you’ll never guess what she told me!” said Bonnie.

“What?” asked Maggie.

“I said you’ll never guess wa she tol me!” said Bonnie again, louder.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time! What did she tell you?”

“Oh…Ok…She was like ‘Bonnie, you really shuun go out an party. You
don’ no wasora men’ll be there,’ like I’m some sorta fuckin virgin or
sumpin .”

Maggie snorted.

“She thinks she’s so smart! Jus’ cuz she like got a double major and is
good at math an’ shit. But she doesn’ even know howa make her shoes
match her owfit! <snigger-hic!>.

“Hey ladies,” I said, “Who are we talking about?”

“Oh hiya, Dr. Jones!” said Bonnie, “We was jus’ talkin’ bout my shtupid
grad student sisser. She’s like int’ engineering and shit and she
thinks she’s real smart but she don’t hardly ever get laid and she
doesn’t think anybozy else should neither!”

“Really. You know, I think I’d like to meet your sister,” I observed.

Bonnie and Maggie sputtered with laughter.

“You ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from her, Dr. J. She don’t drink an’ she
gets good grades all by herself!”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I could loosen her up a bit,” I confided.

Again, the girls giggled.

“That’d be real cool if you could do it,” Bonnie observed.

“Does she live near by?” I asked.

“Y’see, thas my probem,” Bonnie confessed, “My parens inshised that we
share an aparment an she’s always givin’ me shit fer gitten drunk an’
gettin’ laid.”

“Well, I think I definitely need to get to know her then. How about I
give you two a ride home–you seem a little drunk if you don’t mind me
saying so–and we’ll have a little chat with your sis.”

“Allrighty, Dr. J., but I’m tellin’ ya, it ain’t gonna do no good.
Kara’s a prude an’ a bitch an’ she’ll probably be pissed cuz I’m
plassered.”

“Oh, Bonnie. You just need to know how to talk to some people.”

The drunk girls were looking at something behind me.

“Hey Docer Jones!” came the drunken voice of my first home-made bimbo.
I turned to see that she had lost all of her outfit and was surrounded
by a half a dozen guys.

“These guys wanna show me sumpin’ back at their house,” she told me.

“That’s great, Cindi. You’ll have a chance to test your theory!”

“Huh?”

“Oh, never mind. I’m going to give the young ladies a ride home, so
that works out great. I’m sure you’re in good hands with these
gentlemen.”

Cindi giggled.

“Okay–G’bye!”

And so saying, she staggered off into the darkness to prove her theory.

END

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