[Slave_E]

M-Bia's main floor looks like the belly of a spaceship, colorful and luminous. Swift laser lights send shifting patterns through haze and smoke... Psy, Trance, Goa insist and drive. A happy group of people dances, absorbed by themselves, close to each other, enshrouded in an extensive sound cloud. And just a few steps leading down, in a bare concrete vault, right in front of the men's toilets, another DJ puts on dub and house. Powerful bass, hissing cymbals and clacking snares conjure a dark, vast space, a musical portrait of outer space, with sounds suspended like glowing planets... until they resound from the stone walls and drip to the floor. It's Hades, the underworld, antithetical to the main floor's Olympus.

I stood in the underworld and tried to shake my pathetic boobs, utterly unsuccessful, for the pleasure of the guys coming out of the restrooms. Adrian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and watched me. Did I detect some trace of a sneer in his face? I danced over to him, brought my face close to his ear and shouted, "If I really get surgery, which breast size would you like?" and he said, "C cups," and I replied, "C cups? Great!", about to add how much I'd like C cups, but just at this moment a sudden break in the music left room for a fast-spreading expectant silence, which Adrian's voice filled loud and clear with, "You need at least C cups."

I was staggered. Why did he say "At least"? Should he, after all, prefer D cups? Or even yet, bigger ones? In my mind, C cups would complement my slim body nicely. Maybe a tiny bit too big to look natural, but not obtrusively so. With D cups, or even more, I was worried that my boobs would look unreal, and make me appear a wanton slut....

I grabbed his hand, dragged him away from the loudspeakers, lowered my voice and asked, "What does it mean, Adrian, when you say: "C cups, for now?" He looked sheepish, but shrugged and said, "You wanna know what it means? You know it! You have read the study yourself: the bigger the breasts, the higher the promiscuity and the sexual desire that is attributed to a woman..."

Oh my... I should have known. "And you want me to be seen as sex-driven and promiscuous... ?" He nodded vigorously. "Yes, sure. Don't you?"

I shrugged it away, as if there was nothing, but in fact I was annoyed. "I hope you are aware that big-breasted women are also seen as less faithful and less intelligent than women with average or small breasts?"

He stared at me blankly, so I continued, "Okay... you want me to appear less faithful? That's not very flattering, but hey, I can live with it. But less intelligent? Really? That's too much..." And yet while saying so I realized that he was right. If I wanted to be a fake titted Bimbo, I had to accept that people would see me as a brainless doll. And Adrian made bait by summarizing, "You want to be a Bimbo? Bimbos are not intelligent! Just accept it!" What could I do but agree?

I know that I have resisted all permanent modifications for a long time. But now, having changed my mind about breast implants - if only to get rid of those unfashionable and ugly push-up bras - I said with no hesitation, "But I welcome that I do not need to be seen as intelligent any more. I just want to be eye candy. I'm sure it will feel great to go out in public braless with big boobs..."

Have you ever secretly dreamed of dressing a bit sluttier? Or perhaps having bigger boobs? Tinting your hair with some outrageous color? Wearing something that others might consider "too much"? Or maybe you just wished that you had the confidence to do your makeup a little bit more dramatically in your daily life? If so - you will understand how I felt about my decision to become a bimbo.

I leaned into Adrian, hugged him and whispered in his ear, "I think women that want to become bimbos do it for a variety of reasons. With some, it's that it has to do with them being insecure and needing male validation; with others - as I'd rather believe - it is that they are comfortable with their sexuality and enjoy portraying it in this way. And to me it's mostly to find out how far I'm ready to go, to please the BF, and to assuage your appetite... "

And I gave myself a jolt and confessed to yet another bimbo modification I was after. I told him about a lip augmentation technique that uses hyaluronic acid to deliver sexy, pouty lips that look completely natural and looked at him expectantly. He smiled, stroked my lips with his index finger, nodded sympathetically and said, "Yes... I see... Sexy pouty lips are the right thing for a slut that rather wants to be seen as an expert in blow jobs than an intelligent girl." And I replied, grinning ruefully, "Adrian, you and the BF have such a persuasive way to restructure my life, it takes my breath away... "

Wordless, he grabbed my head and kissed me, and his kiss took my breath away... I felt his heat deep down in my belly and his tongue exploded in my mouth. His hands were underneath my dress, squeezing my butt. I whispered, "Do you really love me? A horny slut on the way to becoming a paradigmatic bimbo?... I only need big fake boobs and pouty lips yet," and he said, "Yes, it's true, but don't forget: I love you just the way you are and I would not want to miss any of your slutty ways, but you are only perfect if you too look accordingly...."

With this he loosened his grip and grinned, "To come back to your original offer, it's almost midnight. So show me your slutty ways: go to the loo, yeah, I mean the men's loo, pull off your dress and return half naked, only wearing the garter belt, stockings and high heels..."