WIP: Front Desk Bimbo

Happy Friday, everyone!

I've been writing a lot these past few weeks, but I keep getting stuck. This is one of my more promising Works In Progress (WIP), a mind control/bimbofication story. I'll have to delete this post if I finish this tale, so if you're are interested read it now, cause it might not be here in a few days (or weeks).

I'd meant this tale to be more a longer version of my cap series Marvelous, but I'm a bit worried that it is too similar to Downing Street's Office Reversal, one of my favorite stories. So let me know what you think, please. This will probably be one of my next ebooks, if I decide to continue it.

- B-Rex

Front Desk Bimbo

By Tabitha Kohls

* * * * *

At one time she'd had a wonderfully comfortable office chair, with real leather and polished maple arm rests. Now her desk chair was a simple three-wheeled stool, with a cheap faux leather cushion that stuck to her ass in the most annoying way imaginable.

She fidgeted on her seat for another moment, then sighed and stood up. Reaching under her, she tugged her short skirt down again, and tried to sit once more. Yet again, the too-short skirt slid up as her legs bent, exposing her bare bottom to the sticky cushion.

"Oh, poot!" She exclaimed, giving up. She knew there was no point fighting her skirt again, the result would never change. The skirt was part of her new dress code, designed by her new boss, Doctor Ozweld, to ensure she didn't get too comfortable at her new desk.

Sighing, she wriggled on her stool and tried to ignore the sticky sensations. That wasn't difficult, as she had many other issues to distract her. Her panties, for one thing. She'd never liked thongs before... before HE entered her life, and she didn't like them now either. Her tight, thin satin thongs always rode up between her cheeks, giving her the worst wedgies. If her dress code wasn't so stringent, she'd have bought a pair that actually fit, at least.

The rest of her clothing was no better, of course. Her new dress code was very specific in what she was allowed to wear. For instance, her skirts were never longer than mid-thigh, and most had long cuts running up nearly to the band, exposing more flesh. Her current skirt was deep black, a tube of soft fabric that ran low enough to cover her panties but only just.

Her tops were simple off-white blouses, all picked to show off her incredible cleavage. Many had plunging necklines, while others were simply low-cut. The eggshell-colored top she wore today was very low-cut, running tightly across her chest, and leaving her arms totally bare.

She thought the outfit was more appropriate for a stylish strip club than a psychiatrist's office, but then Dr. Ozweld never asked for her opinion. And at least she got to wear the five-inch heels with it, instead of the normal six or seven-inchers he demanded she wear with her other slutty outfits.

-BEEP!-

The loud beep brought Dorothy out of her reverie, and she looked wearily at the computer screen. She must have spent too long thinking of her new life, and not moving around. If she stayed still too long, her computer would turn on one of her 'special' programs and keep her busy.

How she hated her new computer! Instead of the powerful desktop she had once used, back when this was her office, she was stuck with an incredibly useless pc. This computer was tiny, low powered, and made of hideously bright pink plastic that immediately drew the eye to her desk.

Dr. Ozweld had had it made especially for her new position as the front desk receptionist. Instead of the usual suite of office and spreadsheet programs one would expect of such a computer, her new pc had specialized programs, written just for her personal annoyance.

Sure, there was a simplistic calendar program for entering new appointments, as befit a receptionist's computer, but mostly the programs were designed to keep her busy. Dr. Ozweld had explained that her real function was to be pretty eye-candy for the clients, not a real receptionist, and office eye-candy looked best when it was busy typing, not sitting around wallowing in the past.

Dorothy shuddered with barely concealed anger at the thought; she hated being called eye-candy, she was a professional psychiatrist, for god's sake!
Or at least she had been, once upon a time. Back when she was still Dorothy Talia Zuckman, MD, PHD. But that was then, before her new boss had made her legally change her name. Now she was just plain Ditzy; the oversized nameplate next to her computer said as much.

She hated that name even more than she hated her dress code! She glared at the humiliating nameplate, thankful that she couldn't actually see her new name from this side of the desk. But she knew it was there, staring out across the waiting room for all to see.

Besides, she only had to look down to see her new name badge pinned on her white top. "Hi, I'm Ditzy" the badge proclaimed, in garish comic sans font.

-BEEP!-

Shaking her head, she looked into the computer screen and winced. The computer had selected her typing program. A random text passage appeared on one half of the screen, and a timer began to count down. She only had one minute to copy the text passage, before a new passage appeared.

Placing her hands over the keyboard, she began typing, trying desperately to finish before the timer ran out. This was easier said than done, for each of her fingers now bore an inch-and-a-half long nail. Each finger nail was painted bright pink, with tiny fake ruby gemstones glued to the centers.

The keyboard itself was a problem too. Instead of the typical qwerty-style keyboard she was used to, this keyboard began with the letters ditzy, and continued in random fashion thereafter. Even after three months, she was still getting used to the new layout. Other buttons had been changed as well. The caps lock key now said "Get Bigger", while the backspace button simply said, "Oopsy". It was all terribly confusing, and humiliating to use.

The computer timer was running out now, and Ditzy was only half-way down the page of text! Speeding up, she drummed her fingers wildly, typing like a mad woman. The plastic buttons of the keyboard clacked loudly as she pressed her nails down upon them.

There were only two clients sitting in the waiting room this morning, but the loud noise was getting their attention. She ignored their looks and focused on finishing the page.

Copying the text was a humiliating exercise in itself. The page read, "Ditzy was a happy little slut, with a great big butt, and her boobies were big and bouncy too! But Ditzy wasn't always so happy. Once she was a mean, cantankerous bitch, who liked to pretend she was smarter than others. She called herself a 'Feminist' but she was really just a big bimbo acting out for attention...."

As she typed, tiny red lines appeared under several words she had apparently misspelled, making her curse under her breath. "Fudge!"

In this mode she wasn't allowed to use the "Oopsy" button to backtrack and correct her errors. Sighing, she continued on, hoping she didn't make too many mistakes. The program would punish her if she did.

The timer ran out just as she completed the final line. Her hands ached from the strain already, and she knew a new page would appear soon. The computer would keep her plenty busy.

At the moment, however, the program was accessing her score. She'd misspelled several words and wasn't looking forward to her punishment. After a long moment, the program declared that she had made fifteen mistakes, well beyond the five mistakes per minute she was allowed.

Ditzy stiffened as she felt her rubber butt plug begin to vibrate in her ass! The long, thick plug was just another part of her dress code, but served a rather different purpose than her short skirts, high heels, and tight tops. It was there to punish her when she made mistakes.

A new page appeared, and Ditzy set to typing, trying to ignore the pulsing plug in her bottom. She'd have to complete ten more pages, without making any more mistakes, before the plug would turn off! And all while the two clients sat in the room with her, staring at her as she wriggled her butt on the stool!

She typed as fast as she dared, going back and fixing any mistakes she saw. Since the program was now in punishment mode, there was no timer but also no read lines to warn her of an error. She scanned the first finished page, and moved on to the next, hoping she hadn't missed anything. Even one mistake would mean she would have to start over on all ten pages again!

After twelve minutes of frantic typing, as the plug in her butt buzzed away, she finally finished the last page. Hitting the big "Uh Huh!" botton - the Enter key - she submitted the pages. The plug continued to vibrate in her ass while the program checked each page for mistakes. After a very long moment, the computer finally beeped again and Ditzy felt the plug die down. She sighed audibly with relief, earning more looks from the waiting clients.

Just then, the outer office door opened and Doctor Ozweld himself entered! He crossed the waiting area and stopped before the reception desk.
"Hello Ditzy, having a good morning?" He asked, grinning.

Forcing herself to smile back, Ditzy replied, "Like, totally! I, like, got here bright and early, just like you said, and I even got my nails done, see!"

The words exploded from her mouth, despite her efforts to keep her response quick and simple. Her mind was still that of a professional woman, but her voice was pure valley girl bimbo!

She wiggled her fingers before her boss, the tiny fake rubies flashing in the fluorescent light.

"That's good, Ditzy, real good." The doctor said absently, nodding at the waiting clients. "So, anyway, did you get your checkup scheduled with Dr. Raynor, like I asked?"

Ditzy nodded vigorously, sending her breasts bobbing. They nearly flopped out of her low top. "Sure did, Doc! I'm seeing him during my lunch break! Right after I visit the salon to get my highlights redone!"

She clenched her jaw shut the instant her reply ended. God knows what stupid things she'd say if she didn't keep her mouth closed.

"Good, good." Doctor Ozweld said, opening his inner office door. "Give me five minutes, then send in my eight-o'clock, okay?"

"Like, sure thing!"

* * *