Bimbo Unlocked (8/?)

Matt barely slowed as he reached him. “You’re in Ethan’s class—Troy, right?” he said quickly, voice low and tense. “I need your help—it’s about his project.” Matt started explaining everything he’d been through, stumbling over the words in a breathless rush—even the humiliating parts. The trance. The trigger. …Misty. By the time he finished, Troy’s brow had twitched with interest, his expression unreadable.

“I think I might be able to help,” Troy said after a moment, voice smooth and steady. “Let’s talk at my place.”

Matt followed Troy back, hopeful this whole thing might finally be over. What he didn’t notice was the gleam in Troy’s eyes as he turned away. Inside, Troy was practically giddy. He hadn’t even started on his thesis, hadn’t settled on a direction, but now? Now he had Ethan’s entire project dropped right into his lap—Troy was already imagining the look on Ethan’s face when he presented it as his own work for his thesis.

At Troy’s place, Matt sat hunched on the couch, wringing his hands as he explained the process—how Ethan had implanted the trigger word, step by step. Near the end, he pulled out a small stack of notes he’d swiped from Ethan’s room and slid them across the coffee table. Troy grabbed them immediately, flipping through the pages with growing interest, his eyes narrowing in focus.

Troy stood up and started setting things up, flipping through the notes and pulling things together in silence. Once everything was in place, he turned to Matt and handed him the headphones. “You ready?”

Matt slipped the headphones over his ears. A sultry female voice purred directly into his mind: “Cupcake—cupcake—cupcake—cupcake.” The word repeated slowly, rhythmically, with a subtle pulsing tone beneath it. Each time she spoke, it flipped something in his head—pulling him under, then bringing him back. The cycle repeated again and again, until something shifted. The word stopped working. The fog didn’t come.

His chest tightened. He felt a flicker of excitement—it had worked! But then the voice returned: “Fuckdoll… fuckdoll. Fuckdoll—fuckdoll.” His brow furrowed. What the fuck? The word kept repeating, slow and rhythmic, with that same soft hum pulsing beneath it. His brain went floaty. The rhythm, the softness—it was just like before. His muscles slackened. His eyes drooped. He felt himself slipping, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Before long, everything faded.

Matt slowly woke, blinking and groaning, his head spinning. “What the heck was that…?”

Troy watched him for a second. “Cupcake.”

Matt stiffened for a moment—then blinked. Nothing. No fog, no pull. He let out a breath, shoulders relaxing. “Thank god… it worked.”

Troy’s mouth tugged into a slow grin. “Cool. Now let’s try the new one—fuckdoll.”

The new one? The thought barely formed before Matt’s body softened in an instant. His lips parted slightly, eyes going blank as the fog rolled in—fast, heavy, unstoppable. He tried to tense, to pull back, to scream, but it was already too late. He was sinking, helpless, watching from behind his own eyes as his body turned obediently toward Troy.

Troy leaned in, waving his hand in front of Matt’s dazed gaze. “Holy shit,” he whispered, half laughing. “It actually works.”

Matt’s mind raced helplessly as Troy started rummaging around. After a minute, he came back with a bundle of clothes and some makeup. “Here,” he said, handing it over. “Some of my little sister’s stuff she left over. Go get yourself ready—I wanna see how you look as a girl.”

“Sure!” Matt’s voice chirped, soft and sweet, as his body padded off to the bathroom without hesitation.

Inside, he wanted to scream—but the panic sat low and quiet, smothered under the calm obedience guiding every step. His hands moved easily, picking up the brushes and palettes with unthinking precision. A little blush dusted across his cheeks. Mascara swept through his lashes. His lips were glossed to a soft, wet pink.

Next came the outfit. The pink thigh-highs went on first, tugged high and smoothed into place, snug against his legs. Then came the denim shorts—clearly too small—barely stretching up over his hips, tight across the back, with the lower curves of his ass hanging completely out. The cropped white tee followed next, clinging to his chest, short enough to leave his stomach bare. Finally, he pulled on the matching arm warmers, giving each a quick tug to settle them in place.

His body stepped out into the living room, padding across the floor to present itself. Troy’s jaw actually dropped.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, circling slowly, taking in every curve, every soft detail. “You’re hotter than half the sluts on campus. You sure you’re not actually a girl?” He chuckled under his breath.

Troy reached out, lifting his chin with a finger. “Now I see why Ethan had you prancing around acting like his girlfriend… Misty, you said?” He studied him slowly, gaze flicking from lips to lashes—then paused, eyes narrowing as he met the wide, helpless doe eyes staring back at him. His smirk deepened. “I think Bambi fits you a little better.”

He stepped back, arms folding loosely as he took in the view. “I think Ethan was being a little too careful. From now on, you’re going to be my personal cock sleeve. How does that sound… Bambi?”

Bambi lit up instantly, eyes going wide with delight. “Ohmygod—I’d love that!” she chirped, bouncing excitedly on her toes.

And inside, Matt was silent—stunned, horrified, watching in helpless disbelief as his own body squealed in approval.