Bimbo Pop Princess

"W...What...Wait, no, don't...I changed mah mind, I wanna stay nuthin', don't make me...mmmpfh!"

But her controlled hands put the mental restructuring device on, imprisoning her in darkness, with only an opening under her nostrils. She was forced to fasten the collar...And control was given back to her.

"Mmmmpfh! Hlllph!"

She wriggled on the floor, struggling against the strap-on and the helmet, but it was no use. They were secured in place. Still disoriented, Trixie began to panic when she felt the thick dildo begin to whir, agitated by a powerful motor. It felt good. Too good. So good it made her lose control. Her arms flailed around wildly, trying to get this otherworldly pleasure out of her. but before she could hurt herself, a screen lit up inside the mask, displaying a parade of soothing lights.

"Relax, Trixie. Don't fight the pleasure. Breathe. Relax." Said a male voice.

To her surprise, she found herself calming down. Not anything close to really relaxing, but calming down.

"Good. You know what you need, Trixie? A good chat. You love talking, don't you doll? Well, in a few seconds, you'll feel yourself doing just that. Even under the helmet, you'll be able to talk as we finish melting your brain. Don't worry, all your troubles will be over soon. You'll be stupid and happy and free to talk to your heart's content. So babble away, my little chatterbox. Babble away."

Suddenly, the screen flared up, showing a much more chaotic field of colors. It was dazzling, mesmerizing, and she found her gaze completely captivated. Her thoughts slowed down, and her body started to go limp, free to be ravished by the indicible pleasure. And then, she heard Trixie's voice.

"Hooowdyyy! Yay yay yay, I finally get to be a real girl! Awesum!"

And amazingly, she didn't just hear it. She felt herself saying it. In a single moment, a heartbeat between words, what was once Brooke Wendell understood. Candy Records was letting their fake starlet invade her mind through her voice. She would, literally, talk herself into becoming Trixie.

"Boy, maaan! I luv Candy Records soooo much! They always here for me! Like when I told 'em I was no good at that brainy computer stuff, they understood! They's no use tryin' to teach me fancy stuff, I's just a honest country girl, yanno? 'puters don't do no singin' and lovin'! Only a real girlie can! And I'll be one now! Yeepeee!"

She felt everything. The happy, bubbly tone, the impulse to say the words, everything. As far as her brain was concerned, she, and no one else, was saying those words. And with the pulsating colors slowing down her thoughts, her brain was free to misinterpret the chatter as its own, too busy being rocked by the sex hormones to question it.

"Hmmm, I luv playin' with mah boobies! Just love it!"

And rocked it was. Succumbing to the auto-suggestion, the clear slate began to fondle herself. She merely massaged her generous orbs at first, but soon talked herself into pinching and squeezing her nipples, sending her even further down the depths of mindless pleasure. The blank tried her best to think over the airheaded prattle, but each jolt of carnal bliss shed another layer of critical thought, like a good, simple and naïve country girl.

"Gawd, a real pussy done feel so good! I's no two-cent hooker but nothin' wrong with havin' a big heart, right? Mah fans will luv knowin' I'm open! No hickory tower for me, no sir! I sing and live for mah fans! Don't even want that money stuff, that thing done corruptin' many good folk. Candy Record needs it more, I says! They done sooo much stuff for me! I'll give 'em everything, I just wanna sing and make luv' to mah wonderful fans! Plus Mistah Horne needs that money too! I luv mah manager so dang much! Heck, he's should be the first to make luvin' with me!"

Soon, there was no resistance left. Trixie just kept reciting her hours-long soliloquy, imprinting it as a gospel in her influenced brain. She adored and trusted Candy Records. She was in love with her handsome manager. She wanted to be famous and meet her wonderful fans.

She was Trixie Smiles.

-----

And as Trixie, she talked. Talked and talked about herself and her hobbies and the nice men of Candy Records and how grateful to them she was. Her chatter had felt so natural and carefree that she didn't even feel the stupendously illegal drugs melting her brains to childhood levels. But she didn't need much of a brain - she was set for life. A great body, a great personality everybody loved, and a whole company just to take care of her. She truly was a lucky little songbird. So when she drifted off to sleep, nothing but the most pleasant dreams visited her.

And the happiness didn't end on the threshold to the waking world. The helmet and dildo were gone, and she was in a big, fluffy bed with big, warm pillows. With a content smile, she reached for one and hugged it tight as her implanted memories slowly coalesced into her new persona. The soft fabric on her big, sensitive boobies felt great, and she wriggled a bit, enjoying every pleasurable shiver. The sound of a door opening flew well under her notice.

"Good morning, Trixie. Wake up!"

Upon hearing her one and true name, the transformed girl pushed the blanket away and got up. She covered her juicy tittays, not by prudeness but to satisfy her brand new habit of fondling them. With big, curious eyes, she looked to the man at her bedside. He had been with the nice man who gave her the Trixie-creating thingies. He was with Candy Records! That alone made her smile, but not as much as the realization he could even be...

"Manager? Mistah Horne?" She asked, excited.

"Yes, beautiful. I'm your manager."

She gasped. Her brain had thoroughly assimilated the admiration for the authority figure Candy Records programmed into her. To the buxom redhead, Mistah Horne was a boss, a father and a lover rolled into one. He was sexy, smart, powerful, and represented her creators. She stammered, her head swimming, her breath shortening. She wanted to say so many things. So many words of meek, subservient love...But hadn't the first idea where to begin.

"Ohmigawd...I...I..."

"Shhh..."

Ian gently put his finger on her lips before caressing her hair. Now, more than ever, he was impressed with how total the changes were. He could barely recognize the woman who once was the morose Brooke Wendell. Everything about her fidgeting , buxom form and her starry eyes indicated that she had completely accepted her new existence as Trixie...but how completely?

"The deed is done. Candy Records and I erased everything you were. We cleaned the person you were born as and turned you into our soft-brained starlet. Everything you are now is a complete fabrication, and you inflicted the last step on yourself. You realize that, right?"

His victim hung down her head, and nodded solemnly.

"So, how does that make you feel?"

Silence. The girl trembled. An outburst was clearly making its way to the surface. she closed her hands, raised them at head level, drew a deep breath, and...

"It's AAAAAAWESOOOOOOOOME!"

Trixie hopped, her mouth an ecstatic crescent.

"I luv what ya turned me into sooo dang much! I gots mahself the right best boobies, an adorable face, awesum hair and all the like...heck, havin' a whole new personathingie feels soooo weird but I...I...I'M JUST SO EXCITEEED!" She shrieked with uncontrolled euphoria, waving her clenched hands around. "Everythin' feels so super now! Candy Records done be the best people EVER! I'm a true, honest-to-gawd real life Trixie Smiles and y'all my creators and Masters! I can't wait to meet mah fans so I can work hard n' repay y'all! Thank you soooo much, Mistah Manager Sir!"

The completed Trixie threw herself into Ian Horne's arms, pressing her generous boobies against him, hugging him with wild abandon.

"If you want mah pretty body, it's all yours, Sir! Gosh you's soooo hunky! How's a silly airhead like mahself supposed to be chaste when workin' for a stud like you?"

Horne smiled wide, grabbing her huge boobies and massaging them, eliciting adorable little moans.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about such big city girl concepts, Trixie. You're a simple soul, and if you want to be a fuckbunny, you can just be. You're straightforward and honest with your desires. That's a great thing for a girl to be. Men will want you. I want you."

"Tee-hee!" She giggled, embarassed. "Then...You can just use me. Do whatever...Bein' transformed's the best thing done happened to me! I trust you with everythin', Mistah Manager! I luv ya..."

"I know."

---------

Trixie still felt a bit lightheaded from the afterglow when her beloved manager led her through Candy Records' clean hallways and into an office. She really wanted to ride his cock again, but he said this was really important. And as she told him in her endless chatter, horny or not, Trixie wouldn't be caught dead causing trouble for her creators.

"Trixie honey, this is Candy Records' senior legal agent." Explained Ian to the confused bimbo.

"What's a legal agent?"

"Well, you know how we turned you into a real-life Trixie? This man is going to make your new self real in the eyes of the world. It will be as if you were born as the new you."

"I sooo wish I was, Mistah Horne! I love who I am soooo much!"

"Yes, we all know that, darling. Now be a good girl and go to the man. Do whatever he tells you."

"Sure thing, Sir!"

The helpless cutie skipped to the dour-looking man's desk.

"Howdy! How can I help ya?"

"Take this pen," Said the lawyer as he handed her said object and a binder full of documents, "And sign "Miss Trixie Smiles" wherever there is a X on the bottom of the pages."

"Okiedokie!"

Trixie began to sign the legal documents without a second thought. She did read the writing on them a bit, but it was full of big words she barely understood.

"What's 'power of attorney', sir?" She candidly asked. "Izzit a thing where you shootin' lasers from the eyes and the like?"

"No, sugar." Condescendingly smiled the specialist. "It just means Candy Records gets to take hard decisions for you."

"Candy Records' amazin'!" She joyously squeaked as she signed her rights away. "Do I gots, like a real singin' contract in this here binder?"

"Of course, Trixie. The record contract was the first thing you signed. You're an official Candy Records artist now."

"Awesuuuum!"

----------

One week had passed, and Candy Records verified Trixie's loyalty at length. The sister company had done miracles. She was always psyched and ready for a singing rehearsal, and submitted to any employee like it was the most natural thing in the world. Trixie was as happy as she was at ease with her new self. The artificial personality had set so well, in fact, that the executives decided it was safe to reveal her true identity to her.

They were right.

That evening, Trixie came back from the head office, skipping and singing happily, her juicy boobies still buzzing a little from the titfucks she now loved doing. She was holding a file. On its cover was a picture of a young woman with short, sleek black hair. Trixie sat down in front of the computer, put down the file and played with her low-hanging pigtails for a bit.

"Hmmm, how do you turn this thing on again? I just keeps forgettin'...Aw yeah, the button to the right! Ah, naw, the left! Here!"

The computer whirred and turned on. Trixie was amazed at all that technology. It made recording her thoughts and talking to her fans all around the world possible. She was really grateful Candy Records had made a computhing easy enough for a silly girl like her, though she still largely preferred human contact. She followed the instructions, and soon, to Trixie's delight, the webcam lit up. She loved being recorded.

"Howdyyy! I can't believe it's been days since I first showed mahself to y'all! Well, mah manager says it's a recordin' and Candy Records fixes it when mah mouth says somethin' it ain't supposed to...but still! I love you sooo much, fans! I'm so lucky to have y'all! I can't wait to perform on stage! Hmmm...Dang, I wanted to tell y'all about somethin'...What was it? Oh, right! Mah manager done give me this!"

She showed the file to the camera, smiling from ear to ear.

"I'm told this is me! Can y'all believe it? I was this gal once! Mah name was Brooke! Funny, I can't rememberin' a thing about it. Mistah Horne told me she's the true me but I just don't be feelin' it. I mean, I know I was created from a blank state thing, but I ain't fake! I'm me! Plus, Brooke don't have no boobies at all. It's sad, a girl without boobies...If I was this Brooke gal, I couldn't wait becomin' me! I mean I'm sooo happy! I can just sing and make love to the nice Candy Records folks all the t...Huuuh...Huh hoh."

Trixie pushed her index fingers together, pouting like a scolded child.

"Mah big mouth done talk about the forbiddin' thingies again. Mistah Horne told me it ain't no big deal, they can just fix it in post, whatever that means. Feel awful tho...Can't help talkin' about stuff but I don't want to hurt them Candy Records folks. I owe them everythin'..."

Then, in a split second, she was back to smiling.

"Aw heck, no matter! I have a concert comin' up! I'll sing to y'all in the flesh! I can't waaiiiiit! Lil' old me, finally on stage! Like, heeeeee! I'm soooo exciteeed!"

And so she kept babbling to the camera, throwing her arms up and down and generally being the hyper, peppy yet humble bimbo the public loved. Upon rewieving the recording, Ian Horne knew he had to cut most of the beginning. But it was alright. He had the positive proof that Brooke had fully become his little Trixie. Even telling her the truth couldn't sway her bubbly little brain one bit.

She was still an artificial person, but soon, she would begin to have real world experiences. Her new persona would grow and completely smother Brooke. Hell, Candy Records even planned on giving her a new, genuine country-folk family. After all, her first few videos had been hits. Making Brooke believe she was Trixie was only the beginning. Now, Candy Records had to convince the whole world their bimbo pop princess was the real deal.

THE END.