The Bimbo Drug

Tuesdays always felt like Groundhog Day with more wires. I sipped what might've once been coffee and stared at the cortical stim array like it owed me money. The neurons in dish seven were being little bastards today--no response to the low-frequency patterning and barely a blip from the midrange burst.

I adjusted the amperage again, half-watching the waveform scroll across the monitor, half-listening to the soft hum of the lab. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the same three monitors blinked in their never-ending screensaver cycle, and someone across the hall was having an extremely passionate argument with the vending machine.

Typical.

I rubbed the back of my neck and scrawled a few quick notes into the tablet. Marcus had reorganized the labeling system--again--color-coded like we were in a preschool rather than a Level 4 cognitive neuroscience lab. Every time I tried to find the protein data logs, I had to hunt through a rainbow mess like I was solving a puzzle box designed by a toddler with a glitter fetish.

A warm hand settled on my shoulder.

I stiffened--barely. Just enough to notice. Just enough to catalog it.

"Hey, Doc," came a familiar voice from behind me. "You're looking focused. I like that."

Marcus Vale. Lab assistant. Ex-military, supposed data wiz, and definitely a little too touchy. He leaned in like he was inspecting my screen, but I could feel him watching me more than anything.

"Hi, Marcus," I said, keeping my voice level. "Do you need something?"

He smiled, all teeth and effortless confidence. "Just checking in. You've been here since, what, 7 a. m.? Your brain's gonna short-circuit if you don't let it cool down."

"I pace myself," I said, not bothering to turn. "And you're hovering."

He didn't move. I could hear the smirk in his voice when he said, "Yeah, but you're fun when you're all intense like this. Cute, even."

I blinked once. Slowly. Then turned to face him, raising one brow in the most professional don't-start-with-me expression I could muster.

"Neuroscience isn't a dating app, Marcus."

He held up his hands, stepping back like I'd pulled a scalpel on him. "Whoa, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt the genius in her natural habitat."

I sighed and turned back to my monitor, already done with the conversation. "Then maybe don't."

He lingered a longer, probably waiting for me to crack a smile or make a joke, but I didn't.

Weird guy.

Annoying, too. But not threatening, I told myself. Just another overconfident man trying to play flirty genius in a room full of actual scientists.

I adjusted my glasses, the pair I always wore when I needed to focus. They were more than just a style choice--they were my constant, my anchor to the world of facts and figures. They helped me think, helped me analyze.

God, I was a little too into analysis sometimes, wasn't I?

I smiled softly to myself, pushing that thought aside as I clicked through the next round of data points. As a neuroscience PhD, I was used to operating in this space. My world had always been one of logical thought, study, and precision. I'd always been the responsible one, the one who had to make sure everything was in order, especially when it came to my work.

Of course, my work wasn't exactly easy, but it was everything I had ever dreamed of. This was my field. I was a part of something big, pushing the boundaries of the mind.

If only I could say the same about my personal life.

I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. It was a little messy today--probably from my constant habit of pulling it into a ponytail and forgetting about it halfway through the day. I guess there were worse things to be known for than having a constant "mad scientist" look. At least it matched my tendency to get lost in my research.

But personal life? Well, that was more complicated. I wasn't exactly the most outgoing person. I'd always been more comfortable with research than with people. It wasn't that I didn't want relationships or anything. It just... never seemed to work out. I had tried dating a few times, but I'd always felt a little out of sync with everyone else. Maybe it was my work schedule, or maybe I was just... different.

And now, Marcus was turning into a problem.

I had met him in the lab. He was always around--he worked for one of the higher-ups, but was mostly in the background, doing various jobs. He'd started nice enough. A little too nice, maybe? Always helpful, always eager to chat when I was up for it.

He'd occasionally drop little compliments, and at first, I thought it was just him being friendly. But then he started doing things that felt a little more... intentional. He'd touch my shoulder a little too often when passing by, or lean in just a bit too close when talking about something.

Not that it bothered me... too much. I mean, I was used to the men in my field acting a little... overly familiar. I'd gotten used to that, too. Sometimes, I even found it flattering. He was, after all, an attractive guy--tall, fit, the barest hint of a beard.

But still, there was something off about the way he looked at me. Sometimes it felt a little... predatory? It wasn't overt--just a lingering gaze or a comment that seemed to linger a little too long, making my cheeks flush despite myself. He was starting to get on my nerves, with his constant need to be around me, or talking to me, or touching me, anything.

"Hey, Emilia," Marcus' voice cut through my thoughts.

Fucking speak of the devil. He was still here?

I turned to find that he still hadn't left my office, his usual smile in place. Something in the way he stood there--his posture a little too relaxed, his eyes a little too focused on me--made my stomach do a strange flip.

"Yes?" I said, trying to keep my voice calm, professional. "Can I help you?"

"Just wanted to see if you wanted some coffee," he said, lifting the steaming mugs he was clutching. "I just made them."

I hesitated for a second. I hated giving him a reason to think I owed him. Plus, letting him give me things wasn't exactly sending him the message that I wasn't interested.

On the other hand, I really wanted some more coffee.

"Sure," I said, offering him a smile. "I could use a drink."

He handed it to me gently, making sure to not spill.

"Thought you'd like it," Marcus said with that casual little half-smile of his. "Hazelnut, right?"

"Thanks," I muttered, distracted. My data set was being fussy again, and the sim models were refusing to cooperate.

I took a sip. A little sweet, but that was normal for the stuff he made. He always overdid the sugar. It was kind of annoying, actually. Or maybe not. Maybe it was... actually kind of nice? Comforting. I didn't usually feel this mellow after just one sip, but I'd been running on fumes all day. My head hurt. My thoughts were skipping like scratched vinyl.

"You alright?" Marcus asked, leaning over my shoulder, just a bit too close. Again.

I opened my mouth to snap something snarky, but it came out soft. "Mmm... yeah. Just... hazy, I guess."

He didn't move away. "That's probably because you've been overclocking your brain for six hours straight. You need to take breaks, Em."

"I take breaks," I mumbled, even though that was technically a lie. My fingers hesitated above the keyboard. The simulation code I'd been writing just looked... messy. Squiggly. Like hieroglyphs.

"You know," Marcus said, and his voice dipped into that low, reassuring timbre he always used when he was trying to be persuasive, "if you want to do something useful with your afternoon, I've got that new interface prototype ready."

I blinked up at him. "The VR one?"

"Mm-hmm." He smiled wider. "It's not just visual anymore. Added in audio loops. A little haptic feedback. You'd be the first to test the upgraded rig. You trust me, right?"

God. I should've questioned that more. But my brain felt slow. Warm. Like it had been wrapped in pink cotton. I nodded before I could really process what I was agreeing to.

"Sure. Fine. Just ten minutes though."

"That's all I need," he said, and it sounded innocent, but also... not.

***

Five minutes later, I was seated in the plush, reclining test chair, the headset cradling my head, soft pads against my temples. He adjusted something behind me--straps maybe?--but I barely noticed. My pulse had gone dreamy. My muscles were loose. That coffee hadn't woken me up. If anything, it had made me feel more tired.

"Alright," he said, brushing my cheek with the back of his hand. "Let's begin calibration. Just relax and watch."

The screen flickered to life. A soft voice began to hum through the speakers.

"Breathe in... breathe out... no need to think... no need to try..."

Colors swirled on the screen--soft pastels, slowly morphing into hearts, kisses, glittery symbols. I blinked, but the shapes were still there when I opened my eyes. So pretty. So sparkly.

"You're safe. You're soft. You're so... so good when you don't think."

My lips parted. My chest rose and fell, slowly. I tried to ask Marcus what the hell this was--what was with the tone, the... weirdly sensual visuals?--but my mouth didn't cooperate. I just sighed. And then giggled. Just a little.

That's weird, I thought. Why did I giggle?

Marcus's voice buzzed into my earpiece. "Good girl. Just focus on the colors. Don't think. You're doing so well."

A jolt went straight through me. Not fear. Not confusion.

Pleasure.

A soft, warm clench deep in my core. I gasped.

What was that?

"Let's see how you respond to Layer Two," Marcus murmured.

"Good girls don't worry. Good girls don't ask questions. Good girls smile when their thoughts float away..."

Something clicked. My thighs squirmed. My lips curved into a small, vacant smile.

I should've said something. Should've stopped it. Should've fought.

But I just... giggled again.

And the screen got brighter.

And my brain got lighter.

***

Marcus:

***

She didn't even squirm when I strapped her wrists lightly to the armrests.

Just blinked those clever, tired eyes and leaned back like this was any other experiment. That was the thing about brilliant minds--they were predictable. Overworked, overconfident, and easily disarmed with a kind voice and a cup of coffee laced with just the right compound.

I'd waited months, years for this. Calibrated every detail. Her headset molded perfectly to the shape of her skull. The visual pulses tuned to her neural oscillations. The vocal loop--custom-recorded in a soft, honey-slick tone--designed to bypass her analytical filters and talk directly to her limbic system.

The drug I'd slipped her was already working. Fast-acting. A dopamine enhancer paired with a mild GABAergic suppressant. She was still awake, still herself--just slower. Softer. More suggestible. And getting wetter by the minute.

"Let's begin calibration," I murmured, brushing her cheek with a finger. Her skin was warm. Flushed. Good.

I started the loop. The screen flickered to life. A ripple of pastel pink and peach, swirling like oil in water. It looked innocent. It was anything but.

"Breathe in... breathe out... no need to think... no need to try..."

Her lashes fluttered. That sharp glint behind her eyes dulled, just a fraction. I leaned in closer, studying every flicker of muscle across her jaw, her brow, her lips.

Then--there. The first one.

A giggle.

Light. Breathless. Almost confused, like she didn't know why she was doing it. God, it was perfect.

"Good girl," I whispered into her earpiece. Her breath hitched. Her hips shifted subtly under the lap strap. "Just focus on the colors. Don't think. You're doing so well."

The phrase triggered the pleasure pulse--low-frequency haptic vibration synced with her pelvic nerves. Nothing invasive. Nothing she could report, even if she tried. Just... positive reinforcement. Reward for compliance.

She gasped, and my cock twitched.

"Let's see how you respond to Layer Two," I said, voice low, calm, clinical. Almost.

"Good girls don't worry. Good girls don't ask questions. Good girls smile when their thoughts float away..."

Another giggle. Louder this time. Her smile spread wide, unfocused. Her thighs tensed against the strap, grinding gently. She was glowing--glowing with that dumb, helpless heat that told me her cortex was already loosening its grip.

And she had no idea.

I could practically see her IQ bleeding into her panties.

Her pupils were huge. Her lips slightly parted. She didn't ask a single question.

Didn't demand to know what the fuck was happening.

Didn't even blink when the phrase "Good girl" played again and the pulse hit harder.

She just moaned softly.

And smiled.

I checked the monitor. EEG readings showed sharp drop-offs in frontal lobe activity. Memory retention markers were already decaying. She wouldn't remember most of this. But her body would.

Her body would remember exactly how good it felt to obey.

I reached over and touched the screen. Loaded Layer Three.

I watched her mouth fall open, her breathing deepen. The script was more intense now--more repetition, more direct suggestion. The audio loop didn't just ask anymore; it instructed. The colors weren't just pretty--they pulsed in time with her neural rhythms. Pink, purple, gold. Hypnotic. Hungry.

"You love being filled. You love being soft. You love Daddy. Say it. Think it. Feel it."

She squirmed beneath the straps, panting softly. Her nipples strained against her blouse. I hadn't even touched her, not really. And yet... she was soaked. I could see the slick glistening through the crotch of her leggings, a dark patch blooming like shame--or pride. Hard to tell which, anymore.

I gently lifted the headset off for a moment. Her eyes didn't track. She blinked slowly, like a baby deer trying to process a math problem. Her lips parted.

"Emilia," I said.

She didn't answer.

"Dr. Rowe?"

Still nothing.

"Good girl."

Her whole body twitched. She smiled. Perfect.

I unstrapped one of her arms, slid a straw between her lips, and tilted the bottle gently. It was a nutrient blend--glucose-heavy, dopamine-supportive, laced with microdoses of the same suppressant. She sipped without protest. Swallowed greedily. I fed her a protein bar next, and she chewed slowly, like she was dreaming.

"Daddy feeds me. Daddy keeps me pretty. Thinking is hard. Daddy makes it easy."

The loop had taught her that. Reinforced it while her mind softened like warm wax.

I cleaned her lips with a napkin, then kissed her forehead. "Sleep tight, sweetheart."

She moaned.

And then I put the headset back on.

I increased the dosage settings for the audio loop. Boosted the subliminal layer to stimulate erotic theta associations. Then I dimmed the lights and left the lab.

Twelve hours. That's all it would take.

***

The lab was quiet when I returned, just the hum of servers and the soft pink glow of the monitor. No one was at work yet, not that they'd ever look in the basement where I'd hidden her.

She was still in the chair.

She hadn't moved.

The headset was slightly fogged from her breath. Her chest rose and fell in shallow little gasps, nipples pressing through her blouse like glass beads, lips parted in a glossy pink O.

I removed the headset.

And I smiled.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Wide. Vacant. Glowing.

"Good morning, baby," I said.

She giggled. "Good morning Daddyyy~"

Her voice was high-pitched and sing-songy, like she was doing a bad cartoon impression of herself. No trace of Dr. Rowe's crisp diction or clipped professionalism. Just sparkle and syrup and drool.

"Do you remember what day it is?" I asked.

She blinked.

"Ummm... pinkday?"

I laughed. She giggled louder, pleased with herself.

"Do you remember your name?"

She scrunched her nose, lips pouting. "Uhhh... somethin' long and science-y? Wait! No! I'm... I'm your dolly now! Right? Heehee~!"

Her hips twitched against the seat. She giggled again.

I ran a hand through her hair. "You're perfect."

Her eyes fluttered shut in bliss. "I love bein' perfect..."

***

Emilia

***

Omigosh I woke up sooooo happy.

Like, my brain was doing that soft, floaty thing again, like marshmallows in hot cocoa. Mmm. My legs felt all tingly. My nipples were hard. My mouth tasted like bubblegum and sparkles and Daddy's voice. Eeeeee~!!

I blinked a bunch. Big blinks. Slowy blinks. Butterfly lashes go flappy-flap. Teehee.

My thighs twitched at just the thought of him. Instantly, my hips wriggled in the chair, greedy little slut that I was. I didn't even know what I wanted--just that my body ached for him. My pussy pulsed like it had its own heartbeat. My whole everything was needy.

"Good morning, baby," Daddy said, and ohmygawd my whole everything just melted. I think I made a noise like, "Eeeeeee!!" or maybe "Daddyyy~" or maybe just a squeaky moan. Who knows! I was busy smiling so wide my cheeks felt like they might pop.

I whimpered again.

Like, no joke, a full-body, aching, breathless whimper. My toes curled. My back arched. My pussy clenched so tight I thought she might start begging out loud.

"Do you remember what day it is?" he asked, all serious and science-y and Daddy-like.

I blinked again. Day? There were days? I thought there was just Daddy time and cummy time and pleeeaaase please touch me time.

I tried to think, I really tried, but the words just went bloop! right outta my head. Like little soap bubbles. Pop pop pop! Heehee.

"Ummm... pinkday?" I offered, and OMG I was so proud of that answer! Pink is the bestest day!! Or, like, everyday should be pinkday, honestly.

He laughed. I wiggled. My coochie did that happy dance thing again. Wigglewiggle clench~!

He asked my name next, which was, like, sooo tricky 'cause I knew I used to have one, like, some kinda big brain smartypants name? Dr. Something-Something Seriousface? But that felt like a million billion years ago.

So I scrunched my nose and stuck my tongue out the side of my mouth and said the truth. "Uhhh... somethin' long and science-y? Wait! No! I'm... I'm your dolly now! Right? Heehee~!"

AND HE SMILED. Big smile. Daddy-smile. And ohmigosh my insides turned to glitter soup.

I giggled. I mean, like, really giggled. Full-body wiggles. Tit-jiggles. Coochie-squishies.

He called me perfect. I squealed.

"Yaaaayyyy~ I love bein' perfect! I love bein' good! I love Daddy! I love... um... chairs!" I clapped. I had no idea why I said chairs. Chairs are just, like, sooo sitty, y'know?

My brain was empty. My panties were wet. And I was soooo happy I thought my heart would pop like a pretty balloon.

Then Daddy undid the straps and helped me up--and WHOA.

Standing? Hard.

The floor was doing a dancey thing. My knees were giggling. My legs were like jello on roller skates. But Daddy caught me and held me and I leaned into him like a sleepy kitten in a rave.

"Easy there," he said, steadying me.

"Oopies! Teehee~ I forgot how feets work!"

He helped me walk. Well, more like guided me like a baby giraffe trying to strut in stripper heels. Everything was warm and swirly and fuzzy and... yummy.

He brought me over to a lil' couch and sat me down real gentle-like. I instantly started playing with my boobies. Not even on purpose. They were just there and bouncy and fun and I was like, "Wheeee~ squish squish~!"

"Are you hungry, sweetheart?" he asked, and my whole body did a big wiggly yes.

"Uhuuuh!! Feed me, Daddy! Pleeeease! I need foodies in my belly! Otherwise I'll get all thinky again and that's BAD!" I gasped and grabbed his arm. "Don't let me get thinky, Daddy!! Thinky girls get... um... taxes!!"

He chuckled and gave me a bottle with a pink lid and some yummy stuff inside. I didn't even ask what it was--I just slurped it like a baby bimbo on a mission.

"Mmmmmm~ tastes like strawberry cumshots and sunshine! But I want you next, Daddy~ I need your cock sooo bad my brain's gonna melt even more if I don't get filled up!"

He watched me with that look again. The one that made my nipples perk and my peach clench. Like I was his little pet project. His proud lil' science fair submission. "Most improved brainless dolly~!"

***

Marcus

***

She was perfect.

Not just beautiful--though, fuck, she was that too. Not just slutty--though the way she sucked down that bottle with her legs spread and her fingers buried in her panties was enough to make a priest lose his vows.

No, this was something else. This was crafted. Engineered. The culmination of months--years--of research, trial, failure, patience, and planning.

And there she was.

Dripping on the couch and giggling about taxes.

Emilia had always been brilliant. The kind of woman who never let you finish a sentence without correcting your math. Who double-checked the data after the peer review. Who wouldn't even date someone unless their IQ tested in the ninety-ninth percentile.

Now she was moaning about my cock like a cartoon character in heat.

God, it was beautiful.

She didn't know what she was saying anymore. She didn't care. All that intellect--all those layers of critical thought and independence and ego--melted down into a sticky pink mess just for me.

And it had taken so fucking long.

I remembered the first time I'd thought of the idea. It hadn't even been centered around her at that point. I'd just mentioned it to her. Casually.

Over drinks. "What if we could use neural stimulation to override learned inhibition?" I'd asked.

She'd scoffed. "Sounds like pseudoscience wrapped in a boner."

I smiled and tried to take it on the chin.

Weeks later with my thoughts still consumed with the possibilities and with every chance I'd gotten to talk to her about it ending in hurt feelings and her thinking I was a horny idiot, I'd made my mind up.

I'd test it out on her.

Now she would thank me for cumming on her face and ask for seconds with hearts in her eyes and drool on her tits.

All it took was the right formula. The right delivery system. The right whisper in her ear while her brain was bathed in pink dopamine fog. That was the secret. Not just degrading her. Not just drugging her. Training her. Worshipping her new form, even as I hollowed out the old one.

She giggled on the couch, rubbing herself through her panties, head lolling like a drunk cheerleader on prom night. She didn't know who she used to be anymore.

Not really.

But I did.

And I wasn't finished yet.

I knelt down in front of her, brushing a strand of sticky hair from her flushed cheek. Her eyes lit up at the sight of me like I was made of chocolate and cock.

"Daddyyyyy~!" she squealed, arms flopping open in invitation.

I didn't speak. I just leaned in and kissed her forehead, and she shivered. Like it was the first kiss of her life. Like my lips were divine.

She sighed dreamily, still idly rubbing herself, still twitching with need.

"I'm gonna feed you again," I said quietly, brushing my fingers down the center of her chest. "But not with a bottle this time."

She gasped, legs spreading a little wider.

I smiled.

She was mine.

***

Emilia

***

"Mmmuhhh... okayy, okayyyy, jus' one more--jus'--wait, what were we doin' again?"

I giggled. Again. I couldn't stop giggling. Everything was just sooo funny right now, and, like... sparkly? Sparkly and wet and squishy.

There were fingers on my thighs. Marcus's fingers. God, daddy was hot. They were spreading me open, and that made my toes curl and my back arch like I was hungry. Not like, tummy-hungry. Like... pussy-hungry. Teehee~ that's not even a thing, is it? I dunno. It is now!

"Ooooh," I moaned, all high-pitched and breathy, head flopping to one side like a ragdoll. "Y-you touched my--heehee--my pink button..."

God, that was dumb. I loved it. I loved being dumb. It felt good. Thinking hurt. Thinking was like... ugh, math. But giggling? Moaning? Saying stupid little things with my tongue sticking out? That was fun.

"Let's see how deep the reprogramming's gone," Marcus said somewhere above me. His voice was like leather and ice. It made my nipples perk up so hard.

Ohmigosh daddy was touching me again. That same slow swirl over my clit like he was teasing the last thought outta my brain. I blinked up at him with my big fake lashes batting like butterfly wings, lips parted in a dumb smile.

"I wuv your fingers," I purred, eyes crossed just a lil bit, brain melting like a popsicle in July. "They make my, umm... my coochie all fizzyyy~!"

He laughed. That deep, Daddy laugh that made me clench. My thighs trembled. I think he loved it when I called it stupid stuff. Coochie. Peach. Cookie. My lil' pink gluck-gluck. Mmmm... gluck-gluck.

"What's one plus one, sweetheart?" he asked, just to be mean. He kept circling my clit. Not quite enough to make me cum. Just enough to make my hips twitch.

I gasped, brain blanking instantly. Math? Nooo! That was the evil word! My tongue poked out the side of my mouth and I scrunched my nose like he just asked me to do taxes.

"Umm... like... is it, like... eleven? Or three? Wait, I know this..." I blinked rapidly. "No wait--wait--ahhhh~ nooo don't make me think, it makes my coochie sad!"

"Then don't think," he said, and finally pushed his fingers in.

I squealed. Like full-on piglet squealed. My whole body arched like a puppet pulled by strings, fingers curling, tits bouncing, head tossing side to side like my thoughts were physically evacuating.

"I'm a bimbooo~!" I wailed, laughing and gasping as he fucked me with just those two fingers. "I'm a giggly little jello brain with a cum addiction and a permanent O-face! Omigod omigod OMIGOD!"

"Good girl," he whispered against my ear, and that made me shiver like a chihuahua in a pink miniskirt.

"Yeshhh," I moaned, eyes rolling back. "Make me dumber. Please. Wanna be sooooo dumb, Daddy. Wanna forget ev'rything 'cept gettin' split and stretched and used like a juicy peach..."

I grabbed my own tits and squeezed like a dumb Barbie trying to milk herself. My ass was grinding on the exam table like it was humping the very air. My lips--both sets--were soaked. I was so sticky it felt like my whole body was blushing.

He leaned in, still finger fucking me slow and cruel. "What were you before you became my slut?"

I blinked. "Ummm... a... scientology? No wait, scientist? Nooo. Ughhh, I had, like, glasses and stuff. I did math I think? Or maybe I taught birds about--hehehe wait no that's not right. I think I invented a smart machine? Or was it lip gloss??"

"You were a neuroscience PhD, remember?"

"Oh. Oopsies!"

Another orgasm hit me hard. Like face-slapped-by-a-dildo hard. I screamed and giggled and squirted a little, I think, because something went splish. My legs were jelly, my brain was soup, and my mouth was busy making happy little "ahh ahh ahh" sounds like a broken toy.

"I think my thoughts fell out," I whispered, giggling helplessly.

He kissed my forehead. "Good girl. They're not coming back."

"Yayyy~!"

And then I giggled again, because nothing in the world had ever made me happier than being this slutty, this empty-headed, this absolutely perfect.

***

Marcus

***

She giggled like a toy someone had over-wound. A squeaky, wet, overstimulated little wind-up doll with tits too big and a brain too empty.

Perfect.

I curled my fingers inside her--slowly, deliberately--and watched her back arch again, a ripple of spasms dancing up her spine. Her mouth hung open like a broken hinge. No thoughts. Just sounds. Squeals and sighs and syrupy moans.

"I think my thoughts fell out," she whispered.

God, I loved that line.

I brushed a few strands of sticky-blonde hair off her forehead. It clung to her skin with sweat, maybe cum, maybe drool--hard to tell. She didn't care. She wasn't capable of caring anymore. Her eyes were crossed just slightly, unfocused, as if her pupils had lost the will to coordinate.

"Good girl," I murmured against her temple. "They're not coming back."

Her entire face lit up like I'd promised her a pony. Or maybe a glittery vibrator shaped like one.

"Yayyy~!"

She squealed it like a kid at a carnival, and I couldn't help but grin. She used to lecture post-docs about neural pathway regeneration. Now she thanked me for melting hers into pink mush.

Fucking poetry.

I pressed my palm flat against her mound, fingers still nestled inside her, and ground slowly down. She was twitchy now, sensitive. Perfect for data collection.

"Tell me what you are," I said.

She blinked, smiling up at me like a deranged prom queen.

"A jello-brained giggle slut with a sad little coochie that needs Daddy's fingers to feel smart!"

Goddamn. I didn't even program that line.

I grabbed her by the throat--not to hurt, just to anchor her--and leaned in close, watching her expression haze over like a fogged-up mirror.

"I made you forget everything that mattered. Every equation. Every breakthrough. Every late night in that fucking lab you thought made you important."

She moaned.

"You exist to be used. To be played with. To be emptied."

She came.

She didn't scream. Just this long, low whimper. Her body went limp, spasming gently, like a puppet with half its strings cut. There was a puddle forming beneath her thighs. Not sweat.

"You're leaking, sweetheart," I said, pulling my fingers out with a wet little pop.

She whimpered again. Eyes fluttering. Cheeks pink. Nipples hard enough to cut glass.

"Clean me."

She didn't hesitate. Just leaned forward like a good girl, lips parting as she licked my fingers clean one by one. Tongue soft, eager, dumb. Like she thought she was being fed dessert.

"I used to be smart," she mumbled between sucks.

"No," I said. "You used to be miserable."

That made her blink. Just a flicker. Some old echo of something. Then it vanished, replaced by a sloppy smile and a happy sigh as she finished sucking on my fingers like they were her new pacifier.

"I love bein' yours," she whispered, cheeks flushed, tits jiggling as she bounced just slightly on the exam table.

I smiled.

"You always were."

And I was done waiting.

Years of research. Months of calibration. Only minutes of watching her blossom into this perfect little giggle factory. I'd held back, told myself I could wait a little longer--that the science came first, the process.

But fuck that.

My cock had been aching since the first time she moaned "pinkday" with that syrup-drunk smile.

And now she was dripping for me, giggling at her own brainlessness, and all I wanted was to ruin her.

"I'm going to fuck you now. Take off your clothes." I said, voice low. Not a request. A fact.

She blinked up at me, confused for a half-second--then her face lit up like a toy just got new batteries.

"Okiieee~!" she chirped, wiggling clumsily as she tugged her sticky leggings down. Her ass lifted, legs flopped, and she peeled the sweat soaked blouse clear off of her chest. "I'm all wet, Daddy! I'm so wet for you~!"

I dropped my pants.

She gasped.

No words. Just that wide, reverent stare and a low, worshipful

"ohhhhhhmygaaaaawd..."

***

Emilia

***

He was huge.

Like, no joke, I thought I was gonna die happy. Or cum myself unconscious. Or both. It was so big and pretty and veiny and--ooooh, my poor dolly brain went fizzlepop the second I saw it.

"D-Daddy?" I whispered, thighs squirming. "Are you gonna... put that in my... my... my kitty hole??"

I nearly came just seeing it. I mean, I squealed. Like a cheerleader on helium.

"Yes, sweetheart," he said, grabbing my hips like he owned them. (He did.) "It's time I gave you what you deserve for being such a bitch for the last couple years."

He positioned his huge cock at my soaked entrance, brushing the tip through my slick kitty lips.

Then--ohmigod then--he pushed in.

My mouth fell open.

I didn't scream. I couldn't. I was too busy gasping, like I'd forgotten how lungs worked. He stretched me open slow, so slow, but so deep, like he was trying to fuck the memories out of me.

And I loved it.

Every inch made my eyes roll further back. I could feel my thoughts sliding down my spine and pooling between my legs like melted glitter.

"I'm breaking you in," he murmured into my ear. "You're going to take it all, aren't you, dolly?"

I nodded frantically. "Yeshhh! All of it! All the cock, Daddy! Fill my empty brain with your daddy juice!!"

"Good girl," he growled, and slammed in the rest of the way.

***

Marcus

***

She clung to me like a fever dream--arms limp around my shoulders, nails dragging down my back like she was trying to spell her name in scratches but forgot how to spell. Her legs wrapped around my hips, squeezing, shaking, trembling like she was riding a rollercoaster built from cum and dopamine.

And all the while?

She giggled.

Giggled like a drunk fairy on poppers.

"Omiiigosh Daddy it's s'BIG--my dumb lil' pussy's gonna POP like a pink balloonnn~!!"

I groaned, burying myself deeper. "That's right, baby. Pop for me. I want to break you."

She mewled.

Like a cartoon kitten with a bow in her hair and zero brain cells left to rub together.

Her eyes were rolling again. Not from pain. Not even from pleasure.

From lack of thoughts.

Every thrust was knocking something loose in her head--some old memory, some stray equation, some lingering speck of who she used to be--and turning it to goo. I could see it on her face. She was trying to think, just barely, and every time she did, I'd slam in and make her forget what a thought even was.

"D-daddy I c-c-can't even--can't even spell my own name right nowww~!"

"You don't need a name," I growled, pounding into her like I was claiming a country.

"You're my dolly. My wet, brainless, bouncing little dolly."

She moaned so hard she hiccupped again. "I'm a dollyyyyy~! A good good gooood girl dolly fulla DADDY STUFF!!"

She was babbling now. Spit leaking from the corner of her mouth, tongue out, lashes fluttering like she was trying to take flight from how stupid she felt. Her tits bounced wildly with every thrust, slapping against her chest like applause.

"Fill me up! Fill my squishy brainhole! I wanna be full in both ends heehee~!"

I lost control.

Something in me snapped like a cracked test tube. I grabbed her throat--not tight, just enough--and leaned in, our foreheads touching. Her breath hitched. Her body trembled.

"You ready, dolly?"

She nodded so fast her ponytail whipped. "Y-YESH DADDY! I'm ready for the daddy cum! Fill up my DUMB DOLLY BRAINNN!"

I bottomed out and came like a fucking animal.

It was primal. Nuclear. I shouted something--maybe her name, maybe just "fuck"--but all I heard was her squealing, her voice rising in pitch until it was barely human.

"I'M CUMMINGGG~! MY BRAIN'S MELTINGGG~! THERE'S GLITTER IN MY THOUGHTS--OHGOD DADDY I SEE UNICORNS!!"

Her whole body locked up. Then shook. Then collapsed.

She spasmed around me, soaking us both, her voice breaking into babble. Pure bimbo jazz.

"Mmmmnfff daddy filllll... yesss more squirties... oooopies my dolly-juice is leakin' out my earsss~!"

She was wrecked. Ruined. Cum-drunk and cockdumb and grinning like a valedictorian who just discovered parties and getting drunk were way more fun than graduation.

I stayed inside her for a moment, watching her body twitch, watching her eyes glaze and sparkle.

And then I whispered:

"Tell me who you are, dolly."

She blinked.

Her lips parted.

And with a bubbly little gasp, she giggled:

"I'm Daddy's dumb dumb dolly cumbrain fucktoy sugarpuff babygirl giggleslut sparkleprincess forever~!"

I smiled.

She giggled harder.

And her eyes rolled back as she passed out mid-laugh, drooling, smiling, twitching--perfect.