by Sasha Scott
“What are you planning to do with the money?”
“Well like I thought about getting some new clothes, and like maybe some new makeup and stuff and I saw this super cute pink car that would be like awesome and like I’m super horny right now so if I could pay some guys to fuck me and stuff that’d be awesome too.”
“Well congratulations Carol, and thank you everybody at home for watching today. I’m your host Jim Harris and thank you again for tuning in once again to see a grand prize winner, right here on Who Wants To Be A Bimbo? Good night everyone.”
Carol was over the moon, still welling up tears as she’d really managed to do it, she’d managed to win and show just what a smart girl she really was. What happened next though was something she really didn’t see coming.
“Now Carol, it’s time to move onto our bonus round.”
“What? Bonus round? Like I didn’t know about a bonus.”
“Well things are about to get better. After the show stops airing we offer all of you lucky winners the chance to, get this, double your money.”
“Double it? Wow, that’s like twice as much.”
“What do you say Carol? One more question, double or nothing? What do you think folks, should she take the risk?”
The audience began to cheer for her to do it, going wild for the giggly sex freak. “Like sure then but can we hurry up, I like really need to get porked.”
“Okay well then we won’t waste anymore of your time. For one million dollars, can you tell me, what is your name? Is it A, Bubbles. Is it B, Sunny. Is it C, Ruby or is it D, Candy?”
Carol couldn’t remember, it was so crazy, none of the names looked familiar to her at all. It was almost like something fishy was going on here, but that was a complex mystery that a simple mind like hers wouldn’t be able to work its way around. A dumb bimbo like her wouldn’t be able to work out that this was a trap and her name wasn’t even an option. A idiotic girl like her wouldn’t be able to figure out that this show was a scam all this time, stealing back the money from its winners once the cameras went off air. She could sort of remember what he’d been calling her though, he’d been saying it all through the things. It was C, it was Ca, it was Candy. Of course, her really name must be Candy.
“Candy, my name is Candy!”
“Are you sure? There is no turning back after this.”
“Yeah super positive!”
“Oh I’m sorry, I’m afraid that’s the wrong answer. Bad luck, you won’t be going away with our cash prize.”
“But I was so certain! Like what is my name then?”
“Well if you can’t remember it, how about you just call yourself Candy from now on anyway?”
“OMG that’s like so smart and stuff! Thank you! Now like, can we have sex now?”
“Of course Candy, you’re about to play our very fun last round I like to call, fuck the audience. Now why don’t you get yourself naked and let all these lovely men in the crowd have their way with you?”
“Like okay!” Candy may not have won the cash prize tonight but she still got a lot of memories to take home with her, as well as a brand new body too. Even if she didn’t get the money tonight, she still felt like a winner and she was going to get something just as important to a sex crazed bimbo nymph like her, and that was ravished in every hole over and over again.
Candy was happy to find on her return to Boston that her drastically reduced IQ and her brand new outlook on life didn’t cost her her office job. In fact she even got a promotion, even if her wages have been drastically reduced. But she’d rather be on less money in her new role of Office Stress Reliever than answering phones and having to listen to boring words all day. Instead she could do important things like sitting under desks all day with her lips wrapped around their needy dicks, and serving as a cocksleeve for the boys during their breaks, and any other time they just felt like busting one out. Her boss even told her that the breast milk they were pumping from her engrossed mammaries was selling like hot cakes and making the company a lot more money, which she imagined was a good thing. As long as she was reminded what a good bimbo she was and rewarded with another dose of hot rod, that’s all that mattered to her.
With her income a lot smaller now and being alone enough to bore her out of her mind, Candy also took up a night job as a stripper down at a joint downtown. With her giant swinging milk filled melons and her complete lack of inhibitions, she quickly became the star girl in the whole place. The fact it was well known that after work she’d always be willing to service some pent up guys in the back alley behind the place didn’t exactly hinder either.
Candy couldn’t really remember anything about her past life, she quickly removed all the traces in her apartment as she redecorated to a style more pleasing to her new outlook, but she was sure she’d never been happier. Getting fucked everyday without a care in the world? For a bimbo like her there was no greater joy.
Who Wants To Be A Cowbo?
And we’re rolling in five, four, three, two, one. Action. It’s back, once again a nation takes their seats for the TV phenomenon sweeping the globe and as always they’re joined by the host of the show.
“Hello everyone, I’m Jim Harris and welcome to another episode of BNC’s number one rated show, Who Wants To Be A Bimbo? Tonight our lucky contest will try and win five hundred thousand dollars, and all they have to do is answer one question correctly, a question so easy even a child could answer it. However, there is a catch. Before that they have to answer navigate their way through ten tricky questions, and in each one they put their body and mind on the line. Can they get to the end with their mind in tact and win our grand prize? Well let’s find out as I introduce our newest contestant, Emma.”
The audience puts their hands together for Emma as she emerges onto the stage. She was a slender girl with frizzy brown hair, dressed up in tightly fitting jeans and a smart lilac blouse, looking nervous as she shyly waved at the audience as she climbed up onto the cheap and cheerful stage, taking a seat when offered, Jim sitting down in his usual spot behind a tacky white glossed desk.
“So good to have you Emma, how about you tell us a little about yourself.”
“Well, I’m Emma, I’m twenty two years old and I’m a small business owner.”
“What kind of business Emma?”
“Erm, well, I sell instruments.”
“Instruments, seems we got ourselves a music lover. Can you play anything yourself?”
“I can play guitar and a little bit of piano.”
“I hope your general knowledge is as good as your music Emma because we have eleven questions ahead of us, are you ready to start?”
Sadly for Emma she didn’t really rate her knowledge too highly, she was simply desperate for the money. The small business she owned was bombing and she was on the verge of bankruptcy, she was going to be in a lot of debt unless she managed to get some money from somewhere, this was her only shot.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
“Okay Emma, then let’s play Who Wants To Be A Bimbo?”
The audience applauded as the arena lights dimmed down to focus on the contestant, the nervous brunette squirming about in her seat. This was a gameshow with a lot to play for.
No cash would be on offer for the first ten questions, instead it was a battle of preservation. Every wrong answer would cause the contestant to go through a forfeit, receiving a decreased IQ and an audience voted change, meaning both their mind and body was at risk. The final, eleventh question, is then for half a million dollars and is the contestant’s to take away with them if they answer correctly. However, the more they got wrong leading up to that question the more at risk they leave themself at failing to know the answer.
The worrying thing for Emma was this show started off hard and got easier as it went along, meaning a bad start for her could leave her completely out of the game.
“First question Emma, in 1969 the Norwegian explorer Thor Heyerdahl attempted to cross th
e Atlantic in a papyrus boat named after which Egyptian god?”
And the issues had already begun. Not only did she not really know much about Egypt, she’d never heard of any Thor Heyerdahl, or any other Norwegian explorers for that matter.
“Is it A, Anubis. Is it B, Osiris. Is it C, Ra or is it D, Thoth.”
Emma knew it was a mistake to come onto this show but she couldn’t back out now, but sadly she was clueless about the answer. She nibbled at her nails as she hunched over, trying to push every brain cell into pondering the answering.
“Don’t know this one Emma?”
She shook her head, “No, never heard of him.”
“It might be guessing time Emma, you’ve still got a shot at getting this one right.”
She was going to have to use the most childish idea that she possible could. She was going to have to just think about which sounded like the best boat name. How did it come to this?
“I think, maybe, it’s Osiris?”
“You’re saying Osiris, final answer?”
“Erm sure, final answer.”
“Okay, let’s lock that in for you and bring our attention to the board.”
Emma would only be happy to see one thing flash up on the board and that was a big green tick, she wasn’t hopeful but she could dream. Turns out the never should have bothered, her punt hadn’t paid off and all that greeted her was the symbol of an incorrect answer.”
“Oooo, tough luck Emma, you almost had it. It was actually Ra, who is the Egyptian Sun God. Emma is going to hope things are sunny for her from here on out but first she has to survive our first round of Ask The Audience!”
As always the board would ‘randomly’ select one of the preloaded choices for the category, before picking four ‘random’ choices for the audience to vote on, which would then be applied to the unlucky contestant.
“And looks like the audience is going to be voting on facials. That’s right, the audience now have four options to choose from all focused around that lovely face of yours. So vote for A if you’d like to see Freckle Frenzy. Vote for B if you want Short Sighted Sweetness. Vote C for Puffy and Pouty and Vote D for Vampire Visions.”
Emma had seen the show, everyone had after all, but not enough to know what each choice would do to her. A freckle covering with A was obvious, but the rest left her a bit confused.
“Any preference for this round Emma?”
“I guess having freckles wouldn’t be too bad.”
“Well freckles are often popular when audiences get a taste for the younger girl, but let’s see how they’re voting today.”
First round voting often set the tone for following choices. A stereotype bimbo choice like the fat lips of C would see a show very close to the name, while the fangs and snow white eyes of D would prove for a more niche edition.
“And the votes are in, and it was close, but it seems that option B, Short Sighted Sweetness, has just pushed its way to a win.”
Emma gasped as she felt her eyes tingling, her vision starting to blur up. Luckily the show’s glamorous blonde assistant was on hand to provide Emma with a pair of stylish rimmed glasses, to put her vision back in check.
“Some men really do love a girl in glasses, say it makes a girl look smarter, would come in handy for our next question. Ready to carry on?”
“I guess…” Having her sight changed like that was a big reminder to her about just how powerful this game was, and how easily it could have its way with her body.
“Well watch out, here comes question two. Who wrote the 1876 novel Daniel Deronda? Was it A, Wilkie Collins. Was it B, George Eliot. Was it C, Thomas Hardy or was it D, Anthony Trollope?”
Such a mistake, such a huge mistake. Emma knew she was desperate and stupid to come and do this show, but seeing all these questions which were beyond her really wasn’t helping. Even if she’d gotten off lightly with question one she’d still lost her twenty twenty vision, who knows what else she could lose?
“Another tough one for you Emma?”
“Yeah, you could say that…”
“Just think, if you can get through this the questions will only be getting easier from now on.”
That was true, but she didn’t know what mental state she was going to be in by the time she got there, and it wasn’t helping her confidence.
“I’m gonna say… C please.”
“You’re saying C, are you certain?”
“Well I’m not certain, but I’m saying it.”
A slight chuckle rung out from the audience, thanks for the support everyone.
“Well let’s look to the board and hope that you’re right. Oh, so unlucky Emma, you got B and C the wrong way around these past two questions. It was actually George Eliot, which was a pen name for female author Mary Ann Evans. But no matter, still a long way to go as we move onto our next round of ask the audience!”
The way that the crowd chanted the words along with him so enthusiastically wasn’t exactly comforting to her either.
“And next up we’ll be looking at your hair. It’ll be sad to see you brown curls go, hopefully the audience aren’t too harsh tonight.”
Emma’s frizzy light brown locks had been a trademark look for her, but as long as it stopped any of the more serious changing she could cope with this.
“So audience, vote now for either A, All About the Afro. Vote B for Shades of Platinum. Vote C for Salty Sea Blues and vote D for Dark and Wavy.”
The names were pretty much a case of does what they say on the tin. A brought the hair into an afro style, B coloured the hair a bleached blonde while C turned things a bright blue. D would turn the hair a dark brown which would wave down the shoulders and back.
“And the voting is closed, enough mixed bag but the winner this time is D. Say goodbye to those curls and say hello to the waves.”
Emma’s eyes peeked to her side where she caught the sight of her light brown friz darkening in shade and starting to sink down along her body, a glance down showing the waves of hair flowing across her chest.
“It might not be the same as your last look but if I do say so myself, still looking good Emma. Audience, agree?”
Cheers and a spattering of wolf whistles blew out from the audience, leaving her slightly blushed at the praise.
“Can we just move on now?”
“Fine fine, sorry to make you embarrassed like that. Moving on to question three. Asmara is the capital of which African city? Is it A, Benin. Is it B, Chad. Is it C, Eritrea or is it D, Madagascar?”
Emma wasn’t even sure most of these places were in Africa, she wasn’t even sure that most of them were countries either. Hell, she didn’t even know the name of the city, this wasn’t getting easier for her, was it even getting easier?
“Remember Emma you still have a one in four chance of getting the right answer.”
“I know I know, it’s just…”
“Don’t worry we all understand, but we’re gonna have to push you for an answer sooner or later.”
“Yeah but… hm. A, let’s go with A.”
“You’re saying A, is that the right answer? Oh sorry, the correct answer was actually C, Eritrea. Sorry Emma, it’s time for another round of ask the audience!”
Well odds are on her at least getting the right answer next time, right?
“Let’s see what the voting will be for this round. And it’s time for some body modification. So audience, put your hands on those keyboards and vote A for Marshmallow Mistress. Vote B for Top Popping Pillows. Vote C for Sweet Schoolgirl Surprise and vote D for Biggest Rear in the West. Any personal preference Emma?”
She shook her head frantically, having to adjust her glasses which almost tumbled off.
“Isn’t she just the sweetest folks? Well she’s also going to be the plumpest as our audience have voted for A, Marshmallow Mistress.”
She could count herself fortunate she avoided oversized tits or ass but she was still about to get an injection of both. Her body's natural lithe
state was countered with a dose of fat which packed plenty of meat onto her bones, giving her soft chubby curves and packing more pounds into her bust and ass. She was by no means fat, but she was definitely plus size.
Her new larger body felt so unusually to her, the extra weight, the squish down into her seat, the way her clothes were popping. Her blouse wasn’t too bad with some buttons released, but her jeans were threatening to strangle her thighs.
“You’re looking uncomfortable Emma, sure you don’t need to take your pants off?”
“I-I can’t do that!” She knew what kind of show this was but it didn’t mean she was ready yet for the embarrassment.
