One day I hope to be a perfect bimbo housewife for my Master
If you just can’t seem to keep your clothes on when you’re cooking for your Master, you might be a bimbo,
Tuition Plan - Chapter 3
When she woke up, Ginny was disoriented. Where…what the fuck was going on? She was on an airplane but how the hell had she gotten here? She should have panicked, freaked out completely, but she didn’t. She felt oddly relaxed, if a bit sick to her stomach. She blinked a few times and tried to remember. A private plane. Mr. P. Stray thoughts of her previous day began coming back, slowly, intermittently, hazily. Her “slave phone” as she thought of it, had come alive and buzzed. The first time in over a week. Ginny had begun to think Mr. P had abandoned the project. She had begun to feel a little uncertain about her own commitment. She had worn his clothes, and explained them as best she could, but in her head she had wondered what would happen if she backed out. But she hadn’t backed out, not yet. Anxiety had gripped her almost every day after the punishment incident. She wondered what Mr. P was truly capable of. Ginny had wondered what she was truly capable of. It had affected her sleep, her appetite, her mood. There was a knot in her stomach that made it feel like she was on the edge of vomit at any time. And to top that off she was suffering from serious menstrual cramps, as if her womanhood in itself was trying to reject the plan. But then the phone had summoned her, and Ginny had checked it immediately. How could she do otherwise? She didn’t want to think about consequences of delay. A text simply said, “Say goodbye. Be ready to leave at noon.”
Already? No warning? Just like that she was leaving? Her sister was at work. Her friends were doing various stuff. Was she just going to leave? Now, in her groggy, drugged, half awake state, Ginny couldn’t remember any goodbyes at all. She remembered the near crippling anxiety she had felt in the limousine, and the panic attack on the tarmac. She remembered tears, and a feeling of desperate fear. She remembered a curvy flight attendant’s firm but comforting hand as she helped her up the steps. She vaguely remembered retching in the plane’s toilet, while the flight attendant held her hair back. She remembered the pill. But she didn’t remember any goodbyes. She had imagined a tearful separation from her sister. But unless there was something that happened this morning, Ginny hadn’t even told her sister what was going on. She had imagined telling her friends some fictitious tale so they’d remember her fondly until such time as she could contact them again. But as far as she knew now, Ginny was about to be a missing person in their eyes. How many hours would pass before they started to worry? For that matter many hours had even passed? She raised the shade of the window. It was dark outside. Time change. Felt like they were descending. Must be almost there.
Just then the flight attendant came in. Wait. Was that the same woman? Was there more than one? The curvy flight attendant had been an Asian girl right? She remembered asking her if she was Korean, like Ginny. She was sure about that. She had looked Korean. Hadn’t she? This one was like, Latina or something. Was Ginny just that messed up by the pill?
"Someone woke up!" The flight attendant said cheerfully.
"Ar…are you…same girl?" Ginny said. Only slightly slurring.
The flight attendant gave her a warm smile. “I am Octavia. Sorry to confuse you, Susan cannot currently travel internationally, so we switched when at the refueling stop.” Octavia had a soft tone, a slightly accented English. Ginny couldn’t identify what her native language might be.
"Yes, internationally," Octavia gave her a smile. A knowing smile? Just a comforting one? Did she belong to Mr. P or was she just an employee or what?
"You thought you were going somewhere else, yes? To New York maybe? Well, in due time, Ginny. You just have to make a stop in Brazil first."
"I don’t make the plans, Ginny. I’m just here to help you. But I believe it is just a transit stop. You won’t be leaving the airport."
It shouldn’t have been surprising. Ginny had known for over a week that she had jumped in way over her head. Was she about to be sold into slavery someplace? How stupid had she been to just follow this fucking guy she didn’t even know? What was she doing on this plane?
Octavia said, “Do you feel wide awake now?” Ginny nodded. “Good, there is something you’ll need to do.”
Octavia walked into the forward cabin. She was very poised, Ginny thought. She walked beautifully in her silly flight attendant outfit. She came back with Ginny’s purse, and wheeling a carryon type bag…no…a machine of some kind. A shredder?
Octavia wheeled the shredder up to Ginny’s seat. Octavia put the purse down on the table, and sat down across from Ginny. She had a warm smile on her face. Then she said, “Ginny, you will now shred every piece of paper in your purse, and every piece of identification.”
Ginny looked at her quizzically, surely her protest was plain on her face.
Octavia said, “Ginny, that is an order.”
Ginny still just looked at her. She didn’t really understand.
The flight attendant said, “Ginny, I wouldn’t disobey an order if I were you. It is unpleasant.” She smiled and added, “and I really don’t like to do what I would have to do if you did…so, for me? Will you?” Her tone was like what she was asking was no big deal. Ginny’s passport was in there. Her birth certificate was in there, as had been instructed. Her social security card. Her driver’s license. Pictures of her with her family, in happier times, that she had planned to keep as mementos. Did Octavia know all that? Something about Octavia’s smiling face looked like a mask though. It looked like she was hiding some sort of pain. And something about that made Ginny believe she did know the contents of the purse, and that Octavia was serious. And then Ginny remembered the scorpion.
Ginny unzipped her purse, and pulled out her passport. She looked at it for a moment. And put it in the slot. The machine wasn’t very noisy. It did its job efficiently. Ginny’s passport was gone, ripped to shreds. She felt part of her go with it. And she felt part of her go with her birth certificate, her only copy, and with her driver’s license. And with her bank card. And with the photos of her family. And with what little cash she had in there, which she also shredded. When Octavia presented the laptop, with every one of her social media accounts open to the cancellation page, Ginny pushed the delete buttons, one by one, and watched the record of who she was disappear. Her whimsical instagram photos, gone. All the parties and stuff she had been to - evidence cut from Facebook. Her opinionated emails, erased. Her pins gone, her tumblr beauty ideas, her kpop videos and lame fashion tips, all removed from the internet. Would there be anything to show she was anything but a figment of someone’s imagination now? Just an agreed upon but more or less nonexistent identity named “Ginny” attached to some other people’s photos maybe, and some memories that would gradually fade from everyone’s mind but her own. For a moment Ginny imagined her identity fading from her own memory. It brought a tear to her eye. She wiped it away. She saw Octavia notice, and blinked. It seemed like a bad idea to show weakness, and also…something about Octavia made Ginny want to, well, impress her.
Finally, Octavia fished Ginny’s phone out of the purse. She used a little tool to remove the network card thing, which she pocketed, and then she placed the phone on the table. Octavia produced a hammer, from somewhere, and handed it to Ginny. Ginny looked at her phone. Not the slave phone, her “real” phone. Ginny hit it one time. And then again, and again. She kept hitting it until it was in pieces. It was unnecessary, Ginny knew the phone wasn’t really “hers” without the card in it. But she understood the symbolism of making her smash it. It was the same reason she’d had to shred her cash. She had nothing now. She was nothing now. Ginny looked up. She felt terrified, but still calm. Maybe it was the drugs. No, she wasn’t nothing. Losing material things would not be the same as losing herself.
Octavia said, “you are holding up very well, girl.” Ginny looked at her. Maybe she was wrong. That uttered syllable, “girl” stood out starkly where “Ginny” should have been. What had she gotten into?
"We’re landing soon. You will not be disembarking while we refuel for the turnaround." Then, looking pensive, Octavia added, "…nor will I."
I am not sure where this story will go, but this story really made me hard.
It is a dark fantasy that I probably will never act upon, but the idea of completely deleting a girl’s identity before giving her the new one, the identity of my slave, my bimbo-slave, is powerfully erotic to me.
See, that’s what happens if you don’t keep up! You miss important things! Gotta keep your eye on the ball and check in every day. :)
I don’t think I’ve ever been absolute about it - I’ve always felt it was a “probably not, but hey, who knows?” thing. I always knew it was a big part of the fetish for a lot of people, and while it wasn’t something I wanted early on, I knew there was always a chance that my perspective might change. So I don’t think I ever ruled it out!
I actually have a very handy little recap of how the decision was made, right here! That’s from the beginning of this month, after my Month of Denial. Turns out not getting off for thirty days makes me pretty pliable - who knew?
I don’t know yet what I’m looking for, in terms of size/shape/look/whatever. Things are still very much in the super-early phase. I’m keeping my eyes peeled while I browse tumblr, though, I can tell you that. :)
Early on the idea of making a permanent change like that terrified me, to be honest. I think that’s probably pretty easy to understand. What if I don’t like it? What if I outgrow this kink? What if I hate them? All that sort of stuff, y’know? But when I think about it, while none of the changes I’ve made so far over the past year are irreversible, I think quite a few of them have become permanent.
If, god forbid, things don’t work out with The Fella and I, I can’t see myself going back to some sort of purely vanilla relationship. This dynamic we’ve built… this is what I want. It’s what I need out of a relationship. I can’t imagine being satisfied without it. I could stop dying my hair, go back to dressing all boring and plain, assert my independence, stop spending my time edging and writing erotica. But in my heart of hearts, I’d still want all of those things. I’d still be a bimbo. I’m always going to be. That’s permanent now.
So the permanence doesn’t really scare me! I’m not all that worried about hiding, either. I was, at first. I worried a lot about what people would think. That’s gone away quite a bit recently. I’m sure plenty of people will think less of me, or won’t approve, or will look down on me, or whatever. For the most part I don’t think that’ll be the case with the people I really care about, but who knows? In the end, though, what’s important is that I’m happy, and that The Fella’s happy. If other people decide they’ve got a problem with me because of it, well, that’s their loss, because I’m goddamn delightful. :)
I am adding this to my list of my favorite bimbo stories summer has ever written. Sure it’s a true, real life story (which actually makes it hotter), and yes it’s a chapter in an ongoing bimboification, but it’s got all everything I look for in a bimboification story.
Keep up the great work summer, and good luck with your bimboification :)
Well if she isn’t a double helping of elegant and lovely.
She can stay.
Oh my fuck! She can stay!
Pink is beautiful
Claws any bimbo could be proud of.
Flexibility is sexy.
Strength is sexy.
I would have eaten her up without the honey, but okay! :)
Thongs and G strings are the best.
They ARE the best, aren’t they?!?
If you’ve ever tried to dress in silly string, you might be a bimbo.
My submissive prayer.
May I find the courage to ask for what I desire especially when I feel the control of my shyness holding me back. May I soften my tongue so that the words that fill the space between us is laden with warmth, encouragement, kindness and obedience. May I follow my Owner’ s guidance, trusting him to do right with my purpose to him, to myself, to the world I live in. May I provide a home of no judgement, a place of respite and solace where we both can express who we are without ridicule or shame. May I offer my flesh for my Owner’s pleasure so that I may bring him joy while fulfilling his every desire. May I walk beside my Owner in grace and dignity ensuring I show my respect and appreciation for the life we live, for the love he gives. And may I never give up on myself, understanding my own worth, knowing I contribute as much as he, that my place is just as significant as his. This is my submissive prayer.
God help me I miss pink’s tumblr. She set a shining example for us all to live up to.
Master was sick this week. So jenny said that she would take care of everything. How hard could it be? What could possibly go wrong?