Bambi or Bust Pt. 01

I was dreaming, not that I knew it. To me it all felt so real. The looks and sniggers from bystanders as I walked to work. The click-click-click of my heels on the reception floor. The gaping disbelief of my colleagues as I entered the office, took off my jacket and smoothed my pencil skirt across my pert rear when sitting down at my desk. The looming figure of my boss, stalking over to me and growling in my ear to ask just what the hell I thought I was wearing. I blinked twice, ran a hand over my slightly stubbly chin, and gave him a pathetic look. "Ummm... thorry thir, I think I got my closets mixed up!"

This, said in my fairly deep masculine voice but with a precious lisp, proved too much for my dream-colleagues. They erupted in laughter, pointing at me and calling me names like 'pervert', 'sissy' and 'queer'. My boss glared at me furiously and demanded that I take it all off. The room took up the command and started to chant, banging on the desks at the same time. "Take! It! Off!" "Take! It! Off!" The banging and the noise were getting louder and louder as I cringed with embarrassment.

I woke up with a start. The dream faded, but the banging remained. I could hear muffled shouting from behind my apartment door. "Open up, I know you're in there!". It was my landlord, coming to chase me for rent that was 3 weeks overdue. He wasn't just going to go away - I was going to have to talk to him.

Dry-mouthed from sleep, I shouted out, "Alright, I'm coming. Give me a second." The banging abated, but I knew I didn't have long. I gazed at my thoroughly sissified room with a weird detachment. Would it be that bad if my landlord saw my place like this? Yes, I decided quickly. I already owed him money - I didn't want him keeping my secrets too.

I hopped out of bed and threw on a plain blue flannel dressing gown to cover my lingerie. The stockings I couldn't do much about in a hurry, so I just stuffed my feet into a pair of slippers to hide the reinforced toes and hoped that he wouldn't notice (they were nude stockings, after all). I picked my way carefully through the minefield of discarded clothes, sex toys, makeup and accessories that littered my bedroom floor and came out into the corridor. With the door closed to my bedroom, I felt a little better - the rest of the apartment was slightly more presentable, I thought.

The banging and shouting had started again by the time I got to the door. I opened it to find the enraged face of my squat, bald and warty landlord. He switched seamlessly from shouting at me to open up to shouting at me to pay up. It was honestly impressive.

As his stubby and nicotine-stained finger jabbed at my chest, I prayed he wouldn't feel the bumps and contours of the bra and corset that lay beneath my robe. Fortunately, he was too distracted by his fury to catch those sorts of subtle details.

"What do you think this is, a charity I'm running here? I want my fucking money, and I want it fucking NOW! Every goddamn month with you now, I'm chasing and chasing. What's the excuse this time? No, you know what? I don't even want to hear it. You've got a week. Pay me what you owe me - that's next month's too - or you'll be finding a new place to live, and I'll be taking whatever the fuck you keep having delivered here as recompense. That's what I don't get about you - you're too broke to pay rent but you just keep fucking buying stuff. You must think I'm some kind of dickhead you can fuck around, don't you? Well, you're about to find out. ONE WEEK! I'll come knocking."

He shoved me back and slammed the door, leaving me in darkness. I don't think either of us had a chance to draw breath during the encounter. He'd obviously rehearsed the speech in his head and wanted to get through it as quickly as possible. I got the impression that for all his hard-man persona, my landlord was not particularly comfortable with confrontation. I didn't doubt his promise to kick me out though. It had been a long time coming, to be honest. I, or rather she, had really gone too far this time.

I shuffled back to my room, grabbed my phone and flopped down on top of my pink satin sheets. I tried to ignore the prominent picture of a big black cock that had been set as my lock screen, but a reflex forced my mouth to gape open and my tongue to loll out at the sight, accompanied by a thick string of drool. Despite my conscious effort to stop, my face remained like that for several moments longer, enough time for me to type in my password (C-O-C-K) and start scrolling through the apps on my phone.

I eventually found the ones for online banking, buried as they were beneath page after page of girly fast-fashion shopping apps, shortcuts to porn sites and dirty messaging services where several notifications were waiting. I ignored all these. I had to know just how bad our situation was. With a growing sense of dread, I opened first one account, then the next, then the next. In a few short minutes, my fears were realised.

What couldn't be overdrawn had simply been emptied. The credit cards were maxed, and this month's salary would be eaten up entirely by 'buy now, pay later' schemes. I looked guiltily at the enormous pile of empty boxes and bags in the corner, all delivered in the last week, all adding to the collection that was going to ruin my life. The mountain of boxes was a physical manifestation of the staggering pile of debt I-, she-, no, we had accrued. I stared at it, and felt the enormity of our situation, and cried and laughed and cried again until something in my mind snapped.

***

I was in my happy place, and it was dark. When I'd first started coming here, I could sit, watch, listen to what was going on. Actually, it was more like I was forced to do that. And sometimes it wasn't easy to be a spectator, unable to affect what was happening, but having to bear witness to it and to deal with the consequences afterwards. So when I was offered the choice between that and the dark box, I chose the box.

It was warm and comfortable in here like a nice bath. The silky lining of the box enveloped me like a cocoon, sapping away all my stress and anxiety, all my willpower, all my sense of self. It wasn't sensory deprivation though - I could still hear vague muffled sounds from the other side of the wood and satin. Occasionally, a single word or short phrase would drift through and, although I could never remember what was said, each one sent little jolts of electric pleasure through me. I would be in here for hours, days even, at a time, just being massaged and pampered mentally and physically.

This is what I had traded free will for. This feeling. A utopia inside the mind. Like drugs, but better. What the fuck had I done?

***

Bambi woke up on her bed, stretched and sighed contentedly. She gazed around her room with the same childish excitement she felt every time she woke up. When she'd first arrived, there had been so much to do and so many changes to make. At first, everything she did had to be hidden away afterwards, like she herself was a dirty little secret. But bit by bit, she began to have make permanent, lasting changes to their life.

Now her surroundings were littered with tokens of her victim's total feminization. She could still feel him, squirming around in the pink satin-lined box in their head. A giggle escaped Bambi's lips. Soon, she'd make sure they'd have no way back. Tingles of pleasure radiated from her erogenous areas as she thought about the future. Powerless to resist them, Bambi soon had one hand on her puffy nipple and the other between her legs, rubbing and caressing, moaning and writhing, losing herself to pleasure before finally spurting some joy from her clit. She sighed in relief. Masturbation is the best way to start the day.

She murmured mantras to herself in a sing-song voice as she went about her morning routine. "Bambi's body is for show, Bambi's mind is dumb and slow," she repeated as she completed her fourth set of Bulgarian split squats, pink spandex yoga pants clamping perfectly around her well-defined posterior. After working up a sweat, she needed a shower - a long and complicated procedure involving many bottles of soaps and chemicals. All the time, she sang Aqua's Barbie Girl to herself, putting particular emphasis on the line "life in plastic, it's fantastic!".

Finished in the shower at last, it was time to put on her uniform. This started with makeup: a thick coating of foundation and concealer followed by almost every other beauty product one can imagine, applied liberally and to perfection. After half an hour, Bambi's eyes stared out vapidly from beneath glittery pink half-lids. Enormous lashes beat out an alluring swish-swish in time with the wipers in her head that left her devoid of thoughts. Her plump lips shone with tempting gloss, inviting the next stiff cock inside.

With her mask on, the clothes came next. The foundation was a multi-piece lingerie set: bra, underbust corset, thong, suspender belt and stockings, all made out of strappy pink satin. There were matching wrist cuffs and a choker too, and Bambi quickly slipped these on as in her core, she felt the need to be primped and pampered. After that came the heels, an illogical next step for most girls, but Bambi had to wear high heels at all times, and sometimes it would take her an hour to settle on an outfit for the day, so she always put the heels on first. Today's pair were fit only for working the pole: a tall platform and elegant tapered stiletto, all in pink and transparent Lucite with fuchsia marabou feathers across the straps. She buckled these on and surveyed the room with an extra 6 inches of height. It was such a mess. She knew what she needed to do.

The closet at the back of the room was so full the door wouldn't close properly anymore, and tufts of feminine fabric stuck out on all sides. Bambi picked her way over to it carefully to avoid the detritus on the floor. Opening it, a dress almost flung itself into her arms, the cupboard had been so tightly packed. Bambi took the dress by the hanger and held it out at arm's length, giggling in girly delight.

It was based on a classic French maid design, but nothing about it was traditional. Made from shimmering pink satin, it had a large white collar trimmed with lace and dainty small bows, with a larger satin hanging bow at the centre. Cute puff-ball sleeves trimmed with chiffon ruffles flanked a figure-hugging bodice with corset-style lacing at the back. The skirt beneath would be held up almost horizontal by a dense petticoat, equally embellished by ribbons and ruffles. In short, the dress was a work of art.

Bambi set to work putting it on. It was a little tricky, partly because of all the intricate details that could easily snag on her lingerie or long acrylic nails, but partly too because of the sheer weight of fabric. Eventually she got it settled on her body, cinching the bodice to match her corset underneath and making sure enough cleavage was on display courtesy of her large breast forms. In a trice, she'd added the uniform's accessories: headpiece, apron and gloves, all in luxurious white satin. A quick spritz of perfume and then she was done!

The little bimbo was on cloud nine as she cleaned their apartment. The audio from the files just played on a loop in her head - she'd listened to them for so many hours at this point that she knew them off by heart, even if she wouldn't be able to recall a single line or instruction if she were ever to be specifically asked about them. Every movement in her sissified getup served as a reminder of how far they'd come together, locking in her conditioning more and more. She minced from room to room, dusting, tidying, spreading her feminine influence across every surface, and frequently taking breaks to masturbate or practice her deepthroating skills with whatever sex toy was nearest at hand.

Only one thing spoiled the experience for Bambi: the boy clothes. She hated them, hated how they got mixed up with her pretty things and clashed with the prevailing motif of pink. Her old-self used them as a shield to hide her perfection from the world. She glared at the ugly items after she'd gathered them together to be washed, and she willed them to transform into something girly, tight, slutty. Of course nothing happened.

Deep down, Bambi knew she could not throw them out. Old-self needed them to wear during work meetings at least, and to meet up with friends and family, and truthfully every time they left the apartment. The world was not yet ready to meet Bambi - that was the excuse. But would that day ever come? Probably not, if it were up to her old-self. Bambi sighed, shook her head in disappointment and minced off to clean the bathroom.

The trouble with the Bambi Sleep hypnosis programme is that, if you are truly susceptible, it can have a lasting impact on your IQ. It can't slow down the rate at which you think, but it can make most of those thoughts be about one thing: cock. It had been eighteen months since Bambi's victim had first fallen down this rabbit hole, and by now Bambi was obsessing over cock almost constantly. This left very little room for rational thought, and so it came as a bit of a shock when she finished cleaning the bath and stepped back, only to realise that she'd been using old-self's boy clothes as cleaning rags the entire time. They were by now thoroughly soaked in bleach and chemicals and totally ruined.

Bambi stared at the pile, pouting in surprise. Very briefly, she considered the ramifications of having destroyed the final items of male clothing they owned. Her logic followed simple, almost childish lines though and soon reached a conclusion: they would get to wear a lot more cute clothes from now on! Grinning from ear to ear, Bambi skipped a little as she gathered up the rags (careful not to get any bleach near her beautiful dress) and dumped them in a trash bag. She put it by the door, and then paused to think again.

Her building had a garbage shoot on every floor, accessible via a hatch in the corridor. But this would mean 'going outside' - an act which Bambi had been expressly forbidden to do. She could get up to whatever she liked in the apartment, but if she wanted to leave, she had to wake up old-self who would dutifully cover up her sexy lingerie with drab boy-wear and bring her along as a passenger. That was no fun. She wanted to go out, to flaunt her slutty wares and attract some juicy cocks to suck. That was her purpose in life, after all - to be a cocksleeve for her superiors. And so far, she had had to satisfy her needs with silicone, much to her own disappointment.

Not for much longer, she thought through a haze of horniness. Today was a day of lasts for the pair: last time they would wear boy clothes, last time Bambi would be prevented from leaving the house, last time her old-self would be able to claim any semblance of control over their lives. From henceforth, they would do things Bambi's way, and old-self would be the passenger.

A joyous giggle bubbled up from her throat as she felt a novel surge of power, confidence and accompanying lust course through her. She eyed the front door with glee, but it wasn't quite time yet. She needed to prepare. The outfit she was wearing was undeniably gorgeous, but Bambi knew she'd need something a little chicer and more casual to greet the world in: she was looking to turn heads, but not in that way.

She also wanted to add a dose of mental anaesthetic, a top up of her baseline conditioning. Something to keep her firmly in the driving seat while her old-self snoozed peacefully in its box. She skipped back to the bedroom, flopped down on the bed, and selected a particularly potent playlist from her phone. In spite of her excited state of mind, the first utterance of her trigger word sent her into a deep and peaceful trance. Bambi settled back on the plump satin pillows with a sigh and let the voice tell her who she was...

Author's note: Hey folks, it's been a little while since my last story, hope you enjoyed! Feedback's always welcome :) I'll follow up with part 2 when I can.

P.S. This story is in no way an endorsement for Bambi Sleep. Listen at your own risk.