Bimbofication

Brandon tried not to roll his eyes as he tore the graduation-themed wrapping paper off yet another slim, special edition hardcover of some learning-to-read rhyming book for kids. Apparently people who have to buy a gift for the high school salutatorian all go to the same place because this was now his third copy of that stupid children's book, Brandon thought to himself as he plastered a fake smile on his face and scanned the guests in his parents' spacious home, looking for the neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Levenson, so he could thank them for their thoughtful gift. At least this one came with two crisp hundred dollar bills taped inside. Cash was something he could actually use, unlike weird nursery rhymes for kindergartners. He was going to MIT in the fall and it wasn't cheap. As Brandon neatly set the book aside and began reaching toward the pile of presents in front of him for the next one to open, something he could use even more came into view. Stepping out from behind a festive cluster of party balloons was the neighbors' daughter, Lola. She looked stunning, as always.

Lola was eighteen, the same age and class as Brandon, and she positively radiated beauty. She was average height, but exceptionally slender, with lustrous, straight blonde hair cascading across her elegant shoulders and down her back, big, dreamy blue eyes and a dazzling smile that could light up a room. Lola had a lithe, dancer's build, with firm B-cup breasts. Her ass was tiny and tight, without an ounce of fat on it. She seemed to glide wherever she went, moving with an effortless grace, looking as pretty and poised as a princess.

Lola was the finest girl Brandon had ever seen and he had secretly lusted after her for years, but Lola had never thought of him as anything but the boy next door, a friend — and, perhaps, a friendly academic rival. As if her flawless good looks weren't enough, Lola was also smart as a whip. She was, in fact, the class valedictorian — just edging out Brandon by a fraction of a grade point.

As two of the brightest students at Beaver Brook High, Brandon and Lola had each won their share of accolades. He won top prize in the chemistry competition; she was named homecoming queen. But whenever they competed head-to-head, Lola seemed to come out on top. She was elected student body president; he was treasurer. She was voted "most gifted" and "most likely to succeed" for the yearbook; he got "biggest nerd." And, of course, she was number one in class rank, while the biggest nerd was somehow runner up.

Brandon let out a small sigh as Lola approached, but he was breathless watching her smooth thighs sway, the hem of her mid-length tartan plaid skirt bobbing as she moved. He saw Lola every day, but he could never see enough of her. She was so exquisite, so incredibly beautiful, that it hurt a little, but he always wanted more.

"Hi, Brandon!" Lola said, her voice soft and warm. "Congratulations!" There was not even a hint of gloating. Lola was classy like that. She didn't flaunt her natural gifts — and she didn't need to.

Brandon chuckled. "And congratulations to you too! I can't believe it's all over."

Now it was Lola's turn to let out a little sigh as she considered just how quickly high school had gone by. It didn't seem possible that all those moments and memories had been crammed into four short years — and that the summer before college was already upon them. As if in an effort to recapture that fleeting feeling of high school for just one more minute, Lola asked Paul if she could sign his yearbook.

"Sure," he said, not really caring. Brandon had enjoyed high school, but now that it was over, he was glad to leave it in the past. He didn't feel the need to reminisce and the idea of signing each others' yearbooks seemed childish. Everybody wrote the same stupid shit. "You're the best!" "Never change!" "Remember that night in the woods?" Who fucking cares? Brandon almost said aloud, but didn't.

As Lola leaned forward to sign the yearbook that was spread out on the table, the neck of her blouse fell loosely open, giving Brandon a fantastic look at her small, but perfectly proportioned breasts, peeking out of her lacy white bra. He drank in the view. When she was done scribbling on the front page of his yearbook, which had been blank, she slapped it shut, stood up on her tiptoes, like the trained dancer she was, and asked Brandon what he was he was up to for the night. "I'm having some people over at my house tonight. You should come!" she offered. "My parents are taking everyone's keys, but of course you could just walk home," Lola added with a cute laugh.

As tempting as it was to get drunk with Lola and her friends, Brandon wasn't sure he could spare the time. He was working on something special in his basement and it was almost done.

He had won that chemistry contest by inventing a new kind of food coloring. Ever since he was a kid, Brandon had loved candy, but unlike most kids, he had always been curious about how the candy manufacturers made all those wonderful colors and flavors. After studying the molecular structure of common artificial food colorings — blue #2, yellow #5, red #40, among others — he began experimenting with his own variations and recombinations. The happy result was an artisanal powder that, when sprinkled onto food, greatly enhanced its natural appearance and flavor, while eliminating some of the known dangers commonly associated with chemical additives. Even better, it seemed to facilitate weight loss. Everyone who tried his inaugural batch had reported that their food tasted great and that they ended up dropping a few unwanted pounds as well. Brandon called his creation "Tastrix." And while he could only make tiny quantities of the prize-winning powder in his basement lab, he hoped the facilities at MIT would help him commercialize the product.

But tonight he was hoping to perfect a new, much more powerful version of Tastrix. He hadn't given this supercharged substance a name yet, but he knew it would be revolutionary — if he could get the formula just right. His idea was to chemically bond a Tastrix powder extract with a special compound made up primarily of synthetic heroin and hyoscine. If done properly, Brandon thought that this combination could deliver consumers into a state of euphoria and suggestibility. Eventually, he hoped they would crave Tastrix in all their food, much the way people crave refined sugars and other chemical additives. Reminding himself that those drugs are illegal, and that he needed to cook before he got caught with them, Brandon decided to decline Lola's invitation.

"I'd love to come to your party," Brandon told Lola, "but I'm doing lab work tonight. Sorry about that."

"That's okay," Lola replied, taking it in stride. "But if you finish early, you know where I live. We'll be in the basement, so if it's late and you don't want to wake my parents up, just come to the back door."

"Thanks. Maybe I will," Brandon said, with feigned nonchalance. The thought of spending an intimate night with a drunken Lola Levenson was more intoxicating than any of the drinks she would be pouring for her friends. She was an angel in his eyes, possessed of the most delicate and refined features that heaven could bestow. But Brandon had to resist. He had work to do. And he knew that if he did his work well, Lola could be eating out of his hand.

Just then, as Lola twirled around with a saucy twist of her hips while her skirt played catch-up, Brandon realized it. He was in love with Lola. He had always been in love with her. She was kind, she was brilliant, and she exuded a rare grace, energy and verve. She was innocent, but knew how to flirt; she was precious, but self-assured; she was intelligent but still down to earth. Most of all, she was astonishingly attractive. In that moment, Brandon could see clearly what he had probably always known, but only in a dim and unarticulated way. Everything he did was out of love for Lola. Even Tastrix — and especially the new, narcotic version he was experimenting with — was ultimately just an effort to win the girl that he never seemed to beat.

Admitting to himself that he was in love felt strange, but it gave him a renewed focus on finishing his work and he went about it with gusto. Brandon cast the yearbook down on a lab table and threw himself into a flurry of activity.

Brandon was a dervish in his basement lab, studying samples under his microscope, tweezing minute flakes into a tube of chemicals, firing his burners, and manipulating all manner of scientific instruments, many of them his own handiwork. But after several hours, he was still unsatisfied with the results. He was confident that the new powder he had concocted was what he had wanted: a super additive that would give food a rich, satisfying flavor while triggering weight loss, feelings of joy and arousal, and an urge to obey. The stuff worked. But although Brandon had stabilized the combined chemical ingredients, somehow they just didn't sing. He was still searching for that elusive perfection, the blend that would harmonize Tastrix, heroin and hyoscine into a mighty orchestra of ecstasy.

It was almost 1:00 a.m. when he decided to quit for the night. He wanted to go to bed and let his subconscious chew on the problem, but he hadn't stopped thinking about Lola's invitation.

Leaving his basement through a bulkhead that opened into the back yard, Brandon stepped out into the night. He felt a small surge of excitement as he cut through the trees into the Levensons' backyard and crept up to their patio. The basement lights shone through a set of double glass doors leading into a downstairs rec room. He hadn't been inside the house in a few years — probably since Lola's sweet 16 party — and it looked different now. Brandon heard Lola and her friends laughing, playing music and swapping drunken stories as he approached. He could see them through the glass, sprawled out on a massive, overstuffed couch, sipping from martini glasses, but they couldn't see him. The warm night air wrapped him in a cloak of invisibility and instead of knocking on the door, he stood silently and watched the girl of his dreams. Lola looked ravishing as she tucked a strand of her golden blonde hair behind an ear and laughed loudly at something one of her friends had said.

His interest was piqued, however, when he thought he heard his name. Then one of Lola's friends repeated it, asking, "Yeah, where's Brandon? Wasn't he going to stop by?"

Lola didn't have time to reply before another friend chimed in, "Let me guess. He's in that fucking lab," she scoffed while pantomiming as if she was strapping on some safety glasses to inspect the contents of a beaker.

Lola didn't mean to egg her on. Lola liked Brandon. He was a nice, smart boy and a good neighbor. But when she confirmed that Brandon had said he would be doing lab work, the girls erupted with hoots and guffaws. Lola wasn't trying to be funny or to make fun of Brandon, but she was feeling giddy from the alcohol and found herself laughing along with them.

Just when it seemed the uproar would die down, one of Lola's friends spiked a hat on the floor and dramatically exclaimed, "NERDS!" At eighteen years old, these girls weren't even a glimmer in their parents' eyes when Revenge of the Nerds came out, but they vaguely got the reference and hysteria ensued. Lola's deep blue eyes were moist with tears as she doubled over in laughter. She was a nerd herself, but she could take a joke.

Brandon felt his cheeks burning hotter than the night air. His feet, however, were frozen. He couldn't will himself to knock on the door now; he couldn't face these girls who were whooping it up at his expense. So he just watched from outside, his mood growing as dark as the moonless night sky. The girls' laughter stung. Brandon was so hopelessly in love with the gorgeous girl next door that it took him years to admit it to himself and there she was, cracking up while her girlfriends mocked him.

When his feet finally moved, it was to retreat through the trees and into his own backyard, the landscape unfamiliar in the pitch black night. Paul slipped back into his basement lab, but even there he wasn't safe from fresh humiliation. His safety goggles and beakers mocked him from the table. He felt like swatting them across the room, but then he noticed something out of place. It was his yearbook. He didn't remember bringing it down there. Brandon flipped it open and read Lola's inscription. "Congrats on getting into MIT ya big nerd! Let's stay friends 4 ever!"

That did it.

Stay friends? Fuck that. A sneer crossed Brandon's lips as a plan took shape in his mind. In a flash, he saw what was wrong with his new formula. It triggered weight loss. Lola didn't need that for a second. Her body was lean, firm and fit. She was supermodel thin. And that was the problem. She needed to be his slut, not his perfect, brilliant, size 2 little friend. He wanted her to be a stupid bimbo with voluptuous thighs, a set of big titties and an ass that jiggled when he hit that shit from behind. Oh! the places she'll go, Brandon chuckled to himself as he set about adjusting his lab equipment, and oh! the ways her body will grow!

Brandon worked feverishly through the night. He wasn't tired. Lust was his muse and his raging desire to transform slender young Lola into a busty bimbo slut kept him busy for hours.

Finally, as the first rays of dawn lit up the morning sky, he put the last, triumphant touches on his chemical masterpiece. The work was done and the results, he knew, were inspired. Brandon marveled at the new powder he had created, chopping it into little lines like cocaine. But this was no common street drug. This was perhaps the most potent substance on earth, capable, he believed, of making whomever consumes it grow hopelessly addicted to its delectable taste and the bursts of narcotic nirvana that it delivered. But its real secret lay in a suite of secondary properties. The consumer would not know until it was too late that the powder gradually suppressed activity in the frontal cortex, leaving them as dumb and easily manipulated as a child. In fact, if it worked as well as he hoped, they would become too vapid to ever figure it out. Meanwhile, the powder would also boost the body's natural abilities to store fat and grow breast tissue. By reverse-engineering Tastrix, Brandon had created a powder that would not trigger weight loss but would instead cause targeted weight gain in the consumer's tits, ass and thighs. And the cherry on top was the way it would stoke the body's natural pleasure centers, driving them to incredible heights of desire. It was nothing less than a bimbo drug. As he savored his creation, Brandon decided that a substance so uniquely powerful and finely-crafted deserved a special name. He would call it "Thictrix."

Brandon couldn't wait to serve some to Lola, but he needed to figure out the best way to do it. For once he was happy that Lola fills her Instagram account with pictures of the meals she cooks instead of bikini shots. Her photos were a treasure trove of information about the food she likes, but Brandon really struck gold when he came across an old photo of Lola, in an apron and oven mitts, holding up a loaf of fresh-baked banana bread. The caption said that her parents couldn't eat any because of their nut and banana allergies. Perfect! He didn't go to all this trouble just to make Mr. Levenson's man boobs get even bigger. Brandon baked up some banana bread, making sure to add two generous scoops of Thictrix, and left it on the bench in front of Lola's house with a note that read, "Sorry I missed your party. Please enjoy this banana bread as my little graduation gift to you. Fair warning: it was baked with nuts, bananas and a sprinkling of joy. Let me know how you like it."

Satisfied that the note was disarmingly dorky, he went back home to finally catch some sleep. When he awoke, the first thing on his mind was Lola. Brandon was dying to know if she tried a slice of his special bread. Hopefully she had an extra thick piece, Brandon thought, chuckling at his double meaning. On a whim, he opened Instagram and there was the answer. Lola had posted a picture of a half-eaten slice, complete with a cutesy filter and the caption, "Let's get this bread!" That's not all you'll be getting my dear Lola, he thought to himself. It was only a matter of time.

One hour and twenty-seven minutes, to be exact. That's how long it took for Lola to come ring Brandon's doorbell. His parents were gone for the day, so he had to answer it himself. But first, he took a moment to spy on her from his bedroom window. Looking down, Brandon saw the lovely crown of golden hair that Lola had tied back into a sleek ponytail. She seemed a little fidgety and was tapping one foot while she waited. He was just as impatient to see her, so he bolted from the window and made off downstairs.

Opening the door casually, still clad in pajamas, Brandon gave Lola a warm neighborly greeting. But he couldn't resist asking, "So did you like the banana bread?"

"Oh yeah, it was yummers!" Lola exclaimed, with a small squeak in her voice, which seemed to register higher than usual. "That's why I came over,"' she said with a bubbly tone and just a touch of vocal fry. "I wanted to ask for the recipe so I could, like, make some myself."

"Well come on in," Brandon said a little quickly. He had no trouble detecting the effects Thictrix was having, even if Lola herself seemed blissfully oblivious, and he wanted to get her alone and in private immediately. "So how much did you eat?" he asked, then immediately wondered if he was being too obvious. He hastily added, "A baker always likes to know!"

Lola didn't think anything of it. She was too busy concentrating on walking — and she wasn't doing a very good job of it. Lola was wearing tennis sneakers, but she seemed unsteady on her feet. Her stride, normally purposeful and elegant, was halting and knock-kneed, more of a waddle than a walk, as if she was unfamiliar with the shape and movement of her own body.

And she was. Lola was wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt and Brandon could see immediately that neither fit her quite right. Her ass, normally dainty and little, as if it could fit in a teacup, looked plump and juicy. Her meaty thighs strained against the tight pants. And the way her breasts jutted out proudly beneath her sweatshirt, their rounded fullness pressing against the soft material, confirmed that the Thictrix was working.

When Lola finally answered Brandon's question, some shame crept into her voice. Her shimmering blue eyes lowered and her voice became a girlish whisper, as if she was confessing something secret. "Two whole pieces!" Lola certainly wasn't accustomed to eating that much, but the bread had tasted so good, like the ultimate comfort food, that she just had to indulge.

Brandon put her at ease as he ushered her up to his bedroom. "That really makes me feel good!" he said. "It was my first banana bread and I wanted you to enjoy it. You should have as much as you want."

Hearing how pleased she had made Brandon restored her good spirits and she practically bounced up the stairs and into his bedroom. "Is this where you, like, you know, keep the recipe?" Lola asked with naive sincerity.

"Yes," Brandon replied as he followed behind, imagining how good it would feel to grab a handful of her brand new booty.

When they got to this room, he opened his laptop and pretended to be searching for his secret recipe. But he had no intention of letting her know what was really in that banana bread. Instead, he just did a google search for "banana bread recipe" and printed out the first one he clicked on. He didn't give it to Lola right away. He wanted to see just how bad she wanted it, so he snatched the paper off the printer and held it like a closely-guarded secret, asking, "If I share this with you, will you do something for me?"

"Of course!" Lola answered with a lilt to her voice. She was eager to please and Brandon was tempted to test the limits of her suggestibility. But he resisted the urge. He knew that, if he could control himself now, Lola could be his to control forever. She was still just a bimbette. He would help her reveal the true bimbo lurking within. And for that, she needed a new outfit, something more suitable for her newly curvy body — which, he knew, would be even more voluptuous before long. With all the Thictrix he baked into that bread, her sweatshirt and yoga pants didn't stand a chance of containing Lola's booming body as she continued to blossom into an S-shaped bombshell.

"I can give you the recipe," he began, drawing the words out slowly to make sure Lola could understand them. "But first we have to do something about those clothes. We can't have you looking like a high school girl — it's time you dressed like the successful woman you are!"

Even with Brandon speaking like one would to a child, Lola was having a hard time focusing on what he was saying. The Thictrix was really starting to kick in now and thinking became difficult. It felt so much better, so much more natural, to surrender to the pleasure that she was experiencing, a feeling more intense and wonderful than any she had imagined. She felt her pussy growing warm and radiating heat throughout her body — to her fingers and toes and large, full breasts. Thinking about how her mind and body were changing was too hard. All she knew was that she felt amazing and Brandon had the recipe that she needed to feel this way again. Now, what was he saying?

Oh yeah, clothes. She should get some new clothes. As Lola furrowed her brow in confusion, Brandon's suggestion was burrowing deep in her subconscious. But try as she might, she couldn't understand what was wrong with the outfit she had on. Finally the words came to her and she asked, "You think I need to dress, like, more grown up?"

"Exactly," Brandon responded, turning back to his laptop. "Let me show you what a beautiful lady like you should be wearing."

Lola ate up the compliment. Pleasing Brandon sent tingles of delight rocketing up her spine and brought a blush to her pale cheeks. Lola adjusted her ponytail, pressed the front of her yoga pants with her palms, and basked in the revelation that Brandon found her beautiful, while he busied himself searching for a website. Finding it, he swung the screen triumphantly in Lola's direction and said, "This is how a proper lady like you presents herself. Do you see how powerful and stylish this model looks? I bet you would look even better in that outfit!"

Lola could plainly see the web address, but she found reading difficult and intimidating. Words looked so big and scary. The name of the site was something like Essential Wardrobe for the Office Bim — but she couldn't make out all the words. She just saw a jumble of confusing letters, so she focused on the image on the screen.

It was a blonde, pretty woman — though not as pretty as Lola — wearing bright red lipstick and business attire. She was dolled up head to toe, her hair tied in pigtails with shiny red ribbons, with a smart, tight black skirt reaching only to the top of her thick thighs, a single chain dangling to the depths of her exposed cleavage, just barely contained by the strained bottom button on her fitted white blouse. She completed the look with strappy, black high-heeled shoes and a pair of thick-framed glasses.

Lola was giddy as she admired the fashionable outfit. The pop of pink from the glasses really set the whole thing off, she thought. "Should I wear pretty clothes like that?" she asked in a cute little sing song voice.

"You are a brilliant and successful young lady, on her way to Wellesley — of course you deserve pretty clothes! I think it's time you went shopping. Go to the mall, buy yourself something nice and then come show me." Brandon reached into his pocket for his wallet, but then, thinking better of it, he turned to the pile of graduation presents laying on his desk. With a sly grin, Brandon picked out a slim book, retrieved $200 from inside and handed it to Lola.

Her blue eyes opened wide as she took the money and bounded for the door happily. She couldn't wait to get back and show Brandon her new look. Then he would give her that recipe! But first he wanted something else. As Lola was about to exit his bedroom, Brandon caught her by the arm, spinning her around, and demanded, "Give Daddy a kiss to say thank you."

The eighteen year old homecoming queen didn't hesitate. She closed her pretty blue eyes and leaned in, her lips plump, parted and glistening. It was their first kiss and Brandon made the most of it. Their tongues collided in passion and Lola moaned with pleasure as Brandon ran his hands through her shiny blonde hair, pulling her ponytail roughly and pinning her against the wall while exploring her warm mouth with passionate thrusts of his tongue. Her pussy grew hot and damp, aching to be filled, while Brandon's tongue urgently entwined with her own. She was so transported by Brandon's forceful kiss that she had no idea where her mouth stopped and his began. To her, it was if they had fused together at the tongue and if felt fantastic.

By the time Brandon finally pulled back, Lola was a puddle of lust, her ample chest heaving mightily as she stared back at him wide-eyed. "If your new outfit pleases me, I might do that again, baby girl," Brandon said with a cocky grin. "Don't be long," he added, punctuating the point with a swat to one of Lola's asscheeks. She lurched from the impact and then giggled her way out the door.

She must have chosen her new clothes with a gimlet eye, Brandon thought, because it was hours before she returned. Seeing her reappear on his doorstep, however, it was clear that the Thicktrix had been hard at work the entire time.

The girl who had been graceful and thin her entire life, now wobbled on soaring high heels, her skirt so short it hardly covered her bulbous ass, which was sure to be exposed anytime she bent even slightly. Her blonde hair shone in long, girlish pigtails, tied with adorable red ribbons. She wore prominent pink eyeglasses and a single chain around her neck, just like the model on the internet, but Brandon could scarcely notice. All he could see were those magnificent big funbags pouring out of her tight unbuttoned blouse. Lola was now a full DD for sure, but she wasn't wearing a bra. She probably couldn't find one that fit, Brandon thought. Those breasts were as big as her delicate little head and they strained mightily to be free from their silk cage.

As Brandon let Lola into the house and back to his bedroom, she did a little twirl for him, expertly pirouetting in her high heels so that he could get a full view of her adorable little outfit. Watching her spin, Brandon observed that her natural coordination and economy of movement had returned. Maybe Lola had grown more confident maneuvering her new, enhanced assets around. Or perhaps she was only awkward in sneakers, but regained her grace when wearing the "fuck me" heels a bimbo finds so essential. Whatever the cause, Brandon intended to put her pliability to good use.

"You did a great job, Lola. I approve your outfit," he said, knowing that tossing her a compliment was like throwing a log on the fire burning between her legs. With the Thictrix coursing through her young body, Lola's inner bimbo reached full expression. Her ass carved a wide, thong-split heart in the black micro mini skirt. Her tits were two handfuls each and the eye-watering cleavage bursting forth from her blouse begged to be fucked. She beamed at Brandon with a blissed-out look, eager to please him more.

"Have I earned another kiss?" she asked coyly, her hands clasped behind her back while she rocked on her high heels, thrusting her enormous rack forward and looking up at Brandon with those big blue eyes and pink-rimmed glasses. She had forgotten all about the recipe — and just about everything else, for that matter. The only thoughts making their lonely way through that bimbo brain were about fucking and sucking and worshipping cock.

"If you ask like a good girl I might consider it," Brandon replied cooly, keeping his rising desire in check. He had lusted after Lola for years, but she hadn't cared or even noticed. She had only considered him the boy next door — the one who was always runner up. Now, summoning the memory of all those lonely nights jerking off alone in the very bedroom where Lola now stood, dressed like a slut and ready to serve him, Brandon decided to make the bitch work for it.

"Please," Lola asked in her sweetest little voice, "kiss me again!"

"Is that how a good little girl asks?" he replied, enjoying the confusion that crossed her pretty face. Thinking was like swimming against the tide and Lola struggled to figure out what Brandon wanted. Slowly it came to her. He called himself "Daddy" when they kissed the first time. That must be the proper way for a good girl to address her man.

"Please, Daddy," she said, her voice high-pitched and needy.

"That's better," Brandon said sternly. "Now take off your shirt for Daddy. Those big tits belong to me. Whenever we are alone, I expect you to present them to me. Do you understand, princess?"

Lola didn't understand much, but his order was clear and her pussy glowed red hot from the idea of presenting herself to him. She shrugged her open blouse off her shoulders, freeing her bountiful breasts, the nipples small and hard and sensitive. Lola's toned stomach and tiny waist made her tits look amazing. She tucked her small hands under those giant hooters, feeling their heft, and pushed them towards Brandon's grasping hands. He filled his palms to overflowing with Lola's bombs, kneading and cupping, weighing and squeezing, pinching and smacking, suckling and nibbling them for a quarter of an hour. She moaned and squealed from the rough treatment, especially the way he slathered her sensitive nipples with his tongue. Her pussy moistened and her brain pickled in dopamine as Brandon treated her tits like a dog with a chew toy.

Just when Lola's arousal sent her to the edge of orgasm, Brandon stopped. Lola was desperate for more manhandling, but he let her writhe, untouched, while he admired the palm prints he slapped across her big wet titties.

Lola needed to cum so bad that she didn't recognize her own voice — soft as a kitten's purr — when she begged Brandon for release. "Please! Don't stop! I'm so close to cumming!"

But Brandon only heard what she didn't say. "You forgot to call me Daddy," he said ominously. Lola's face fell as the gravity of her error sunk in.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Lola said, her painted lips sputtering over the words. "I'm such a stupid girl."

"Yes, you are, Lola," Brandon said condescendingly. "You're a stupid little slut. So I'm going to have to teach you. Take off your panties and bend over my knee, now!"

Brandon sat down on the bed and patted his knee vigorously. Lola looked ashamed, but she never broke eye contact as she slipped her skimpy panties over her high heeled shoes and proceeded to lay across Brandon's lap. He stroked her bare back and felt the warmth of her breasts against his pant leg. "I'm going to spank you ten times," he told her coldly, "and each time you will say 'Thank you, Daddy.' If you say it wrong, we start again."

With that, Brandon yanked her skirt up and let his hand fall across Lola's bare ass, which rippled from the impact. "Thank you, Daddy," she said, just like Brandon had instructed. By the seventh spank, however, she lost her concentration. The sharp slap of Brandon's hand on her broad backside took her breath away and Lola couldn't manage to say the words before he smacked her ass again, even harder, causing her to yelp and squirm on his lap.

"You really are a stupid bimbo, aren't you?" he asked cruelly.

"Yes Daddy!" Lola blubbered as tears began to form in her eyes and an aching desire soaked her pussy. Brandon could feel her heat and smell the sweet nectar of her arousal.

"You know the rules, princess. We start from zero until you learn how to behave." Without further ceremony, Brandon began again, tucking his thumb to make his hand like a paddle and swatting Lola's ample ass until it matched the red ribbons in her pigtails.

This time, she managed to say, "Thank you, Daddy" each time, but eighteen spanks — one for each of the little bimbo's birthdays — had stung her into submission. She kept her head in Brandon's lap, whimpering and mewling lustily.

Spanking Lola got Brandon's cock hard as steel in his pants and, standing up, he ordered her to pull them off. She crawled to the floor in front of him, raised herself up on her knees, and gently slid his pants into a puddle at his ankles, revealing his bulging boxer briefs. Lola gently ran her thin fingers across the outside of his underwear, marveling at the big dick outlined against the cotton and humming her desire to feel it inside her.

While Lola caressed his cock through the boxer shorts, Brandon reached down and grabbed her by the pussy. He rubbed his hand vigorously against her trim little mound, bidding her pink petals to unfold for him and pressing his thumb in tight circles around her clitoris. Lola had hooked up with a few clumsy guys, but no one had come close to pleasuring her little pussy like this. She clung to Brandon's erection, still sheathed in his boxer shorts, but she had no time to register her surprise that his length accommodated both of her hands. It took all the concentration her bimbo brain could summon to stay balanced on her knees as Brandon bothered her pussy back to the brink of orgasm. Lola could feel a warm wetness dripping down her legs as she parted them to give Brandon better access. Her breathing was deep and ragged as she felt a crest of indescribable pleasure surge through her body. When he penetrated her tight hole with two meaty fingers, Lola let out high-pitched squeaks and squeals like a little mouse. He worked his fingers up into her wet snatch one thrust at a time until they were buried to the top knuckle and then he began twisting them rhythmically, causing her to groan and grind down on his gooey hand while her balloon-sized breasts bounced up to her chin.

When he felt Lola's teenage pussy begin to twitch around his fingers, Brandon pulled them out, leaving her panting in agonizing need of release.

"Pull out my cock," he commanded.

"Yes, Daddy," Lola said, flashing that 1000 watt smile.

She slid a slender hand into his boxers and pulled out a whopping hammer cock. Lola gasped as ten inches of rock hard dick pushed their way towards her face. Brandon's penis was enormous, smooth and straight, with a purple crown almost as big as her fist. He smirked as busty young Lola stared in disbelief at the imposing sight of his girthy cock — another benefit of being a chemistry nerd. I'm not just the "Dicktrix" president, he laughed to himself, I'm also a client.

"Oh Daddy, your cock is so b—!" Lola exclaimed, but the last syllable was lost when Brandon invaded her mouth with the fat swollen tip. Feeling the warm flesh pry her lips apart, Lola tried to pull back, but Brandon cradled the back of her head and began feeding her a steady diet of dick. In that moment, Lola wasn't his friend, classmate, or the girl next door. She was nothing but a bimbo slut and it was time she understood exactly what that means. Brandon grabbed her wrists, pinning them behind her back, and began thrusting deeper into her throat. For nearly twenty minutes, Brandon relentlessly burrowed his big fat dick into the depths of Lola's throat. Her cherry lips made a vacuum seal at the base of his cock and she greedily gulped the copious precum oozing down her throat and into her tummy. "That's right, suck Daddy's dick. That's all a stupid bimbo

like you is good for, isn't that right, Lola?" Brandon taunted as he pulled his spit-soaked cock from her mouth and slapped her about the face with it.

"Yes, Daddy! I'm just a stupid bimbo and I worship your cock!" Lola gasped. She was teetering on the edge of a massive orgasm while Brandon rubbed his hog all over her beautiful face, smudging her make up and leaving a trail of slime across her nose.

"Do you want that cock in your little cunt?" he asked, his harsh language pushing her even closer to the point of no return.

"Yes Daddy yes I want it! Fill your little girl with that big beautiful dick," Lola pleaded, her voice cracking from neediness.

"Then bend over and present that pussy to your Daddy," he demanded.

Lola hurried to comply. She crawled onto the bed on her hands and knees, then backed up to the edge and wiggled her ample behind in Brandon's direction. The fine teenage bimbo was pigtails down, ass up and her usual diamond-shaped thigh gap was nowhere to be found. Those legs had some meat on them now and the way that curvaceous ass, still pinkish-red, framed her dark, glistening pudendum made his thick rod painfully erect.

But before giving Lola the deep dicking she was begging for, he needed to taste that sweet pussy. Lola Levenson was the girl of his dreams, and for years she never gave him so much as a second look, but now he was about to dip his tongue in her honeypot from behind. Taking hold of her heart-shaped ass, Brandon spread the heavy cheeks apart, a fiery heat greeting his face as he moved in and began lapping at her moist pink folds. The pungent scent of her pussy tickled his nose as he danced across her most delicate flesh with a devil's tongue. Lola's rhythmic moans built to a crescendo as a volcanic, full-body orgasm prepared to erupt.

Lola's thick thighs quivered and quaked as the first tremors of her impending orgasm hit, but just when she began to be swept away in a flood of delirious pleasure, Brandon withdrew his tongue and slapped her bum like he was staking a claim to it.

The dumb bimbo was so desperate to cum that she had tears in her eyes, but she remained face down and perfectly submissive while Brandon handed her another spanking.

It took five more swats on her big, medicine ball ass before she remembered to say, "Thank you, Daddy," but when she did, her reward was long, fat and stiff.

Brandon felt like he was fucking a golden-haired goddess as he slid inside his teenaged crush. Lola was thrashing with animal lust and her sloshing pussy sucked his cock further into its sticky depths with every stroke. When she came, the spasms made her pussy clamp like a velvet vice around his dick, but Brandon continued banging her without mercy. "Oh oh oh oh Daddy fuck meeeeee!" she screamed as a second orgasm thunderclapped through her body.

Lola's pussy massaged his massive ten inch dick as she bucked her wide hips to meet his every thrust. Brandon grabbed her by the base of her pigtails, pulling her head up and pushing her bountiful tits forward as he crammed ten inches of hot meat up into her tummy. He banged her like a man possessed, pistoning his cock in and out with such force that the pink glasses flew off her face. Gripping her hair by the roots, he continued pounding that pussy until he was drumming a steady beat against her cervix. Lola whimpered like a bitch and unleashed a torrent of bimbo gibberish while Brandon relentlessly stabbed into her molten pussy, sending her into a delirious series of orgasms that came so rapidly she could hardly tell them apart.

By the time Brandon flipped her on her back, Lola was exhausted from his thirty minute assault on her tender young pussy, but, like a good bimbo slut, still begging for more cock with every last ounce of her strength. "Don't stop, Daddy," she pleaded, her legs splayed wide and heels pointing to the ceiling. "Give your little girl all of that big dick!"

Brandon collapsed on top of her, buoyed by her cushiony breasts, and pinned her arms above her head while he rammed his cock deep balls deep and tonngue-fucked her face. Lola moaned into his mouth as another orgasm overtook her.

Brandon felt his heavy balls tighten as he bottomed out in her gaping pussy. Lola must have felt it, too, because she began begging for his seed. "Cum for me, Daddy! Shoot that big load for your little slut!" she said, her voice competing with the loud squishing sounds coming from her cooze as Brandon continued drilling the homecoming queen into the bed. Her hard nipples and pillowy tits felt divine grazing against his chest as he rutted furiously into her steaming hot pussy. Finally, Brandon pulled out with a pop and ordered Lola to her knees.

On wobbling legs, Lola arranged herself at his feet and reached for his mighty erection, coated in her glutinous fluids. Brandon began slapping her tits and mashing them together as she stroked him vigorously. "That's right, you fucking whore, make Daddy shoot his cum all over your face!" he growled. A bimbo always finishes the job herself, he mused to himself.

"Do it, Daddy!" Lola urged him while stroking his iron-hard cock with both hands. "Cover me in your cream!" The Thictrix made the pleasure centers in her brain light up like a forest fire, snuffing out all sober self-regard and leaving nothing but a desperate thirst for Brandon's cum.

When it arrived, it was like a fire hydrant had opened, shooting rope after rope of hot, salty semen all over her tits and face. He blasted a thick wad of cum on her pretty face, leaving sticky white streaks in her hair, on her lips, and across those mountainous breasts, which looked like two glazed donuts. Lola caught as much as she could in her mouth and swallowed it like she was starving, then dipped a finger into the pit of her cleavage to scoop some more into her greedy mouth. Her big eyes looked heavy, but she managed to keep them open, looking up at Brandon worshipfully while she licked her fingers like a kitten cleaning her fur. When she was done, she returned to his cock, suckling on it and lapping up any stray globs of semen.

Finally sated, with a belly full of warm cum, Lola stayed on her knees, purring with contentment as Brandon pet her head and told her what a good bimbo she had become.

Lola beamed with pride at the compliment. After that marathon fuck session, the fog of lust lifted from her mind just enough for her to remember it was time for her to be getting home. Rising to her feet, Lola took a hard blow to the chin from her bouncing tits, which made her giggle. As she bent over to retrieve her discarded clothes, Brandon soaked in the view of that spectacular ass. When she reached for her thong, however, he clucked in disapproval. "You don't need those," he said, and she immediately dropped the panties back on the floor. Still wearing her high heels, Lola slipped into the micro mini skirt as comfortably as if it were a second skin. After she dressed, Lola reapplied her make up in the mirror, smoothed the ribbons in her pigtails and stepped over to Brandon for a goodbye kiss. "Thank you, Daddy," she said sweetly.

Brandon didn't bother walking Lola to the door, but as she turned the handle to leave, on her third try, he called after her. "Hey Lola! Let's stay friends forever."