Suddenly, you seize up and begin to spasm, arching your back and thrashing your limbs uncontrollably. Next to you, the same thing is happening to Emilio and Zephyr. Your audience does not seem too concerned, however. The scientist simply keeps his eyes on the monitoring screens.
After a few seconds that seem like hours, the sensation changes. Warmth spreads over your body, and you start to pant, sweat soaking your skin. Between your legs, you feel a pressure build up, and your gown forms a rather embarrassing tent, soon mirrored by Emilio. Zephyr has her own protrusions, small nubs poking out her gown over her heaving breasts.
“They’ve now entered the arousal stage,” the scientist announces.
Meanwhile, your movements become more rhythmic as pleasure now washes over you. All three of you moan, growing ever more desperate for release. Surprisingly, your own shaved scalp rapidly sprouts luxurious red hair that tumbles over your headset and spreads out over your bed behind you. Body hair also tumbles loose from your newly flawless skin, leaving you silky smooth all over except for some nicely thinned eyebrows. Your companions mirror your changes. Zephyr’s former mane is more than replaced by stunning ebony waves while Emilio’s curtain of caramel shimmers with golden reflected light.
You and Emilio then shrink a bit as your skeletons and muscles become more delicate. Hips pop out while waists cave in, and a heart-shaped layer of padding adorns both your rears. Even though your heights have obviously decreased, your legs retain much of their length albeit with a few more contours to catch the eye.
“Are you sure this is going as planned, doctor?” The man in the suit asks. “Cuz this is looking awful familiar.”
“Certainly, sir,” the scientist coolly assures him. “This part is necessary.”
Barely registering their words, you hiss, “Sssssomebody, h-help me!” You arch again, raising your hips to make it quite clear what kind of help you want. Despite being rock hard, your equipment seems shorter than expected. Your horrified face ripples with further adjustments, forming an angelic visage to match your model-worthy body. A gasp escapes your puffy pink lips, a much softer sound than your earlier plea, no doubt an effect of your slender neck devoid of any Adams apple.
“You’re doing just fine by yourself,” the scientist chuckles. “Now relax, and let it come.”
At this point, Zephyr lets out a scream of ecstasy, her whole body going taut and her fingers and toes curling. By now, her body had gained quite a number of enhancements much like your own: a great figure, a gorgeous face, the works. Of course, your flat chest still lagged behind her DDs. But not for long.
Hearing such a provocative sound sets off both you and Emilio. As one, you also pierce the air with girlish screams, making wet spots on your gowns before your manhoods retreat into new feminine openings. Swellings under your large nipples then blossom into full breasts, completing the last of your extreme feminization.
Your mind undergoes a similar transition. Thoughts slow down exponentially to be replaced by more basic urges. What little concept of self you have left is forcefully purged of any masculine qualities, leaving your mannerisms as cartoonishly female as your body. Twenty three years as a male fade into a forgotten dream, and a very different person opens her eyes to take in the world. You have become a bimbo.
Giggling reflexively, you turn to the former Emilio and smile. “Oh, y-you’re so…pretty!”
“You, too!” She gushes back.
“Who’re all these hunks?” Zephyr coos, licking her lips as she stares at the assembled men. Her question draws your attention back to the men, and you strain against your tethers, trying to reach them.
The suited man steps forward with a scowl, ignoring your eager squeals. “Doctor! They’re nothing but bimbos! This was your last chance, and you’ve just-”
“Steady there, my good man.” The scientist raised a hand. “It isn’t over just yet. Now comes the hard part.”
“Hey, cutie,” you purr at him. “Wanna come here and-”
Your invitation cuts short as pure agony fires into your skull. The other two bimbos also jerk in place, lights blinking rapidly on their headsets. Mouth open in a silent scream, you squeeze your eyes shut as a giant spider crawls through your brain. At least, that’s what it feels like. When it stops, your head lolls onto your pillow. “Oh. Ow. W-Wha-waz-zat?”
[Connections established. Neural web in place. Installing selected data.]
For some reason, despite the long words used, you actually understand it all, as if its meaning were injected right into your head.
“Now to test it out,” the scientist says. Leaning over you, he asks. “Tell me, my dear, what is your name?”
The answer pops into your head, and you answer automatically. “Bimbo Enforcer 75.”
“What is the square root of a hundred and forty-four?”
Again, the information pops up, and you recite, “Twelve.”
“What is your purpose?”
“Destroy the bimbo hordes and make this planet safe for humanity again. Also, follow all orders given to me by the Agency.”
The scientist smiles, making your heart flutter inside you. “Perfect. This experiment seems to be a success, so far. The others couldn’t even comprehend the question.”
The man in the suit reluctantly backs down. “Alright, you succeeded, this time. But I want these new bimbos tested for any bugs. We need definite results and quickly!”
“Understood, sir.”