From Billionaire's Son to Bimbo Slut

— What the, like, I mean, wha-a-a-a!? — Antonya blinked, staring at her reflection on the phone screen. A strange, doll-like girl with ridiculously plump lips and eyes that looked like saucers stared back at her.

Something weird tugged in her chest, like two bags of gel had been poured into it. She slowly lowered her gaze — and nearly screamed.

— Oh, fudge…

The pink, tight-fitting top stretched over a massive, fake, attention-grabbing tits. Her brain frantically tried to find an explanation.

"This is a prank. This, motherfucking, has to be a prank. Someone pumped me full of silicone and plumped my lips while I was out cold. Where the hell am I?!"

He… or rather, now, apparently, she, nervously swallowed, feeling her mouth go dry. Her thick hair cascaded down her shoulders, light, weightless, unusually silky. Her eyelashes fluttered a few times, her eyelids heavy — mascara, definitely mascara!

Her heart pounded like crazy. Thoughts raced through her head:

"I’m Anthony Brown. Son of Marques Brown. Heir to the fortune. I’m twenty-seven. I… can’t be this… this..."

The phone vibrated in her hand, and a voice came from the speaker:

“Hey, baby, what’s up? You getting bored? Send me something hot”

Anthony… or Antonya, as she was now apparently called, stared at the contact. "My sweetie."

Her hands shook. She turned on the front camera.

— Oh, oops…

She looked like a typical Insta girl: silicone, over-plumped lips, perfectly done eyes, and some ridiculously big boobs that just bulged out of her top.

And the worst part? Her voice… It wasn’t her

— O-M-G, I’m, like, sound like a total ditz…

Her fingers instinctively touched her lips, and Antonya flinched — they were soft, puffed up, as if filled with air. "Fuck, my words! I really talk like... like a stupid dumb bimbo!"

— Okey-dokey, Antonya, babe. Gotta, like, calm down. Think, ugh, like, logically…

She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. Her huge boobs lifted and squeezed her ribs.

— Ugh, fudge you, my trouble-making boobies!

"Okay, calm down. Better stay quiet... What’s the last thing I remember?"

Memories came back in flashes. He had been sitting in the car, taking a selfie for his girlfriend, wanting to send her a photo, hoping she'd send something naughty in return…

And now, he was here. In someone else’s body. In the body of some silicone mannequin.

The phone vibrated again. The phone slipped from her trembling fingers, landing on the leather seat with a dull thud. Antonya quickly turned around — the driver’s side door swung open, and a male figure filled the space, enveloping the air with a sharp perfume scent.

— Hey, kitty, — his voice, like warm silk, slid over her skin, making her involuntarily tense up. — You getting lonely here?

The guy settled into the driver’s seat, turning his face toward her. Chiseled cheekbones, perfect stubble, a gaze that seemed to pierce right through her. Jason. The name surfaced from the depths of her memory, as if burned with a hot needle. Her current… sponsor? Lover? Master?

— I... uhh… — her voice cracked into a high-pitched squeak. "Fuck, Anthony, what the hell?! Stop squealing like a bitch on a leash!" — I was just, like, thinking...

Jason squinted, slowly running his tongue over his lower lip. His hand slid onto her knee, his fingers digging into the skin above her sheer stockings.

— You know what I think? — He leaned in closer, his breath smelling like mint and power. — You think too much. That’s not a woman’s thing.

Her tits tightened so much it stole her breath. "Hey, this is how I always talked to dumb women! What the hell is he doing to me?!"

— Uhh… Jason, I... like, I gotta go, okay, I... — she stammered, hearing herself scream inside, "What the hell is going on?! Why is it so hard to find the right words!? Ugh! I just need to get the hell out of here and… Wait, what the fuck! This is my car! Or… or is it?! AAH, why is thinking so hard?!"

Jason didn’t move his hand from her knee, his fingers tightening on her skin, and Antonya felt a shiver run down her spine. His gaze was so... so dominant. The same way she used to look at girls. And it pissed her off. It pissed her off so much her knees felt weak.

— You’re kinda nervous today, — he leaned in closer, his breath brushing her cheek. — Maybe you need to... relax?

"Relax?!" — she mentally screamed. "I’m freaking Anthony Brown! I shouldn’t be sitting here like some damn doll, listening to you offer me to ‘relax’! This is how I talked to girls! This is me!"

But her lips, those stupid, puffy lips, stretched into a dumb smile all by themselves.

— Well, you know... I’m just... — she tried to pull away, but the seatback was already pressed right against her. — I dunno, like, maybe I should, like, head home? Or... or, like, to some other place?

Jason smirked, his hand slid up her thigh, and Antonya felt warmth spread through her stomach, her heart pounding even harder. She tried to breathe evenly, but that damn body wasn’t responding the way she wanted — her nipples hardened, her knees went weak, and that disgusting heat in her lower belly threatened to take over her completely.

"No, no, no, fudge, no! This isn’t me! I’m not some stupid silicone doll that can be touched however you want! I’m Anthony, motherfudging Brown! Or… or not? God, why is this so hard?!"

But the lips, those stupid, puffed-up lips, once again stretched into a helpless, silly smile.

— Well, like... I’m just... — her voice sounded so high, so... empty. A little more, and she’d believe herself that she’d always been like this.

— You’re just too cute, — Jason grinned wickedly, his fingers gliding up the inside of her thigh before suddenly pulling his hand away. — That’s why I love you.

"Oh, how cute... Fuck, what! Oh, what are these thoughts, Anthony! This is NOT cute at all! Though... NO! NO 'THOUGH!' HE CAN'T LOVE ME! I need to respond!"

But instead of a furious shout, instead of slapping him like she imagined in her head, she just blinked like a doll who’d been wound up.

— Uh... so, like... y-e-e-ah?

"I need to find out if he really loves me or not... or... God, what the fuck am I even thinking?!"

Jason started the car, the powerful roar of the engine filling the silence. Antonia instinctively pressed herself into the seat, her breasts jolted under the pink top, and she stifled an irritated groan.

"Quit bouncing, my lovely balloons. I can’t focus!"

The car smoothly pulled onto the road. She squeezed her knees together, trying to pull herself together, but every second spent next to Jason felt like torture. He looked... brutal, cocky, confident. Just like he used to act. Only now, she wasn’t the one calling the shots. Now she was sitting in a short skirt, those damned tights, with huge tits that bounced with every bump in the road.

And the worst part? Every time Jason looked at her, something twisted inside her, pulled down. Desire. Real, animalistic, humiliating desire. She felt her body respond to him, wanting him.

"God, he’s so sexy... He... NO! This is not me! This... this... I don’t know what this is, but I want him so much! No, stop, please, Antonia, stop, you’re not... you’re not..."

Antonia tried to focus, to pull herself together, but the further they drove, the more lost she felt. Her eyelids drooped from the fake lashes, her lips trembled with the traitorous urge to say something, but instead of coherent words, only silly phrases invaded her mind, as sticky as pink chewing gum.

— Soo, like... where are we, like, goin', cutie? — she mumbled, biting her plump lip.

Jason glanced at her and smirked.

— Home. To the villa. I thought we could spend the night there... together.

Antonia swallowed nervously and automatically bit her lip, her hand brushing his thigh.

" Hmmm... villa, like, sounds, like... soooo nice? " she thought to herself and then another thought flashed "God, NO! NOT NICE! THIS ISN'T NICE AT ALL! What are these words now, like, I’m thinking, huh?"

— Oh my gawd, — Antonia whispered, feeling her fingers slide by themselves along Jason’s thigh, stopping at his crotch, while her head spun with some stupid jingle, like from a cheap shampoo ad. — uhhh, I mean, like... maybe while we’re, like, driving, I...

Her voice sounded so dumb, so pathetic, that she almost moaned from disgust. But the body, that damned body, seemed to have a life of its own. It reached for Jason, like he was a magnet, and she was a piece of metal. Images flashed in her head—phallic images—long, hard, wet with desire, where the hell did those come from, fudge?! She squeezed her eyes shut, nearly moaning in fear... or maybe something else, something just as disgusting.

"Oh, no, no, no, NO! These aren’t even my thoughts! This isn’t me, fudge! I’m Anthony Brown! I’m not some sweet slut whose head is now filled with these nasty, sticky ideas!"

— You want something, babe? — Jason’s voice, low, with a slight rasp, was too close. Too dominant. And he could clearly see how she was leaning toward him, her fingers barely brushing his thigh.

Antonia, motherfucker, Brown, tried to pull her hand away, but no luck. It was like instead of muscles, she had jelly. Like instead of will, she had stupid, sticky submission.

— Well, like... oh... — her voice betrayed her, trembling, lips parting. She could feel her chest rise heavily under the thin fabric, her nipples rubbing against the material, and that... fuck, that was nice. Her lips naturally formed a seductive "O", and in that moment, Antonia felt something snap inside her. No, not in her body—in her head. Like the last thread connecting her to her past almost broke, dragging the remains of her sanity into a sticky, sweet abyss.

"Oh, god..."

She couldn’t... she shouldn’t... but the images kept swirling in her head. Thick, hot, wet. She almost felt her lips—those fake, unnatural lips, but so soft—surround something hard, something... no, no, no, “FUDGE, NO!”

But her body didn’t listen. The tits, that damned meat, crushed her ribs, her stomach clenched traitorously, and the warmth between her thighs grew stronger, more undeniable. Like she wasn’t controlling the body, but the body was controlling her. Like every cell, every artificial detail of this image demanded one thing: to be a bimbo, to be a slut, to be who she was supposed to be.

"NO!"

Antonia clenched her hand, wanting to focus, forgetting that she was next to Jason’s dick and felt it get harder, and at that moment, she couldn’t hold back anymore.

— Ooooh... ummm... — her voice still sounded dumb, sweet, empty, but panic raged inside her. — Like, maybe... we could, like, stop and I...

She wanted it. She desperately wanted it. Her whole body demanded something intimate, and it was impossible to fight it anymore