The Gift, Part Two

It started as a gift from my Master – one where I was allowed to wander my hands and my mind to a gorgeous climax. But as is often the case with my Master, this gift did have a tiny payment afterward. Master asked only that I share with him what naughty things filled my mind while my fingers filled my cunt. A reasonable request, though one I found so difficult to fulfill tonight as we talked. My face hot with a full blush, I stammered and stuttered the images I’d relished.

As I’ve said before, my mind is a very easy, obedient puppet to my Master. He can, with very little effort, bend and mold it to please him. I explained to him that my fantasy included the idea of being made to look, physically, like a slutty, airheaded bimbo only because the thought might please him. Within minutes of my sharing this idea a mirror appeared before me, reflecting back just such an image of me. He had changed my face, my body, to be that bimbo I’d imagined and he’d given me the ability to see how I would look. There was no warning. With the minute between one breath and another I found myself staring at my face painted permanently with whorish makeup. My hair, normally brunette and straight, was now blonde and almost curly. My tits resembled two volleyballs crammed into my sweater, huge and bizarrely round. And so obviously fake.

I could only stare and stare. I felt like I was gazing at someone else entirely. Master asked what I thought of the new version and I could only blather about how very wrong it looked. How very not me this image was.

To help some he made an additional change, stripping away my normal clothing and replacing it with slut clothes. My porn boobs wedged into a tight, leather bra. My hips wrapped in a tiny leather skirt. Four inch heels on my feet. But still this was just not me! He pressed and I explained again that this was so foreign and bizarre and just. Not. Me.

And then suddenly it kind of was me.

I’d been staring and staring at the image. Couldn’t pull my eyes away, and though my overwhelming reaction was how odd this version of me looked, as I stared I began to appreciate the visual. The blond hair seemed to exotic; so sexy. My makeup made my face dramatic, as opposed to the plain Jane I normally am. Even the fake tits – I wanted to grab them; squeeze them. Feel how artificial I knew they’d be. As I stared the image stopped being wrong. Now the wrong thing was me; the life I have and the way I could never live that life and look this way. I was the wrongness.

Master asked me more questions. He wanted to know how I felt about the improvements he’d allowed my mind to make. He sensed the changes in how I looked and looked. I began to explain how the changes appealed, but could never be in my life, and he pressed for the reasons why. What about me made these improvements so impossible?

“My I.Q.” I joked, but meaning it too. “My job – I could never go to my job looking this way! My way of life…” The more I tried to explain the more difficult it seemed to be. “This is the face, the look of a brainless, slutty bimbo and that’s just something I’m not.” I recognized the tiny wave of regret in my mind as I said the words. I was not a brainless, slutty bimbo. Even if for just a second there I secretly wished I could be.

As is so often the case, my Master knew. My flash of longing may have never left my lips, but he knew that I had a want. Being so generous to me he wanted to give me what I wanted, and knew that first I had to say it. Say the want that burned in me, despite my desire for pride and respect. He kept me talking about the difference between my life and the life that this person staring out of the mirror could have. My IQ; my job; my self esteem, my IQ…

“What job would you have if this were you?” I knew what he wanted me to say – we both did. But I couldn’t say the words. Still, I laughed as a moment from the other night popped into my head.

“This was in my fantasy,” I laughed.

“What job would you have?” he repeated.

“In the fantasy I had been drawn into thinking about this new version of me would be like; what kind of job. In the fantasy I knew I wanted a job that was safe, but had a lot of…” oh those words. So easy to want, so hard to say. “…a lot of fucking.”

“What job?” he kept up the question, having not yet received an answer.

“We talked about stripper or whore.” I confessed, feeling the hot in my face again. “But whore was too dangerous, and stripper too… too boring. Not enough action. Since I’d come up with both of those you came up with the third idea…”

“What job would you have?” never stop asking. Get your answer. As we talked he could sense that the words were coming easier. The words easier, but the thoughts slower.

“Porn star. You suggested porn star. Safe, but also plenty of fucking. And in the fantasy that was the right job for me…” I tried to prevent the wide smile but it slid itself across my face anyway. This job idea seemed so appealing now. I closed my eyes and thought about this option. Thought about the freedom it could provide. I floated away in my mind but Master’s words brought me back.

“What is your job?” I answered now without thinking.

“I’m an actress. I’m in the movies.” I giggled as I said the words, peeping up at him under my sculpted, made up eyebrows and heavily painted lids.

“Are you really an actress?”

“Well, I really am a movie star.” I laughed back. Then I corrected myself. “I work in the movies. In a specific kind of movies.”

“What kind of movies?” I knew the word he wanted to hear, but I tried to negotiate around it. Still, the paths available to me seemed to be dwindling as my world got simpler. I giggled again.

“I could say adult movies. But that’s not what you want to hear, right? You want to hear the other word?” Master tells me he just wants me to tell him what my job is. I can hear that he’s smiling as he speaks. I give him what he wants. “Porn. I’m not sure I’m a star, but I make porn movies.”

This new life is so comfortable and easy now. I enjoy that the leather outfit and my sexy blond hair staring back at me in the mirror. “Tell me about yourself; your life.” I’m confused by the question – Master knows me better than anyone! But he explains to me its like a game – I am to tell him about me like we’ve never met. I like games – we play them at work all the time.

And so I tell. I tell of my life working I porn, and how Master was the one who found my career. How I loved it because it let me fuck all the time, which we both know I love. How we’d talked about my being a whore, but it was too dangerous and how my Master took pity on me and let me go this safer, but still fun, way. How it was hard for me to fuck strangers at first, but not anymore.

“and who am I?” he asked. This question is even more confusing for my simple mind, and I struggle to imagine the world where I don’t know who he is.

“You’re… you’re… you’re everything. You’re my Master, my agent, my… my everything!” How do I feel about you? “I love you, I serve you, I worship you, I…” all of these questions confuse me, as if he’d asked why I breathe. Because to not feel the way I do about my Master would be to die. “Its ok with you that I fuck other guys?” I ask.

“Well, baby, you kind of have to for your life, right? And you do it to please me. So no, I don’t mind.” I’m relieved, both because I don’t want him unhappy, but also because I love fucking all the time. I’ve come to love this life as a slutty bimbo and am relieved I can keep it. The gift from my Master.

“What do you like to do?” he asked next.

The answer to every question seems to start with a giggle now. What I like to do? Such a silly question, but I’m enjoying Master’s game now so I reply. “What do I like to do? Fucking. Working. I don’t know?” You laugh at me and I laugh too. “I used to like to read, but not anymore. So hard? I used to watch movies, but these days mostly ones from people I work with. Mostly porn movies… It’s good for getting ideas-“

“Open Wide Cum Slut.”

His words break me out of my reverie and activate programming that has been in place for months now. Any time my Master says this to me I stop everything, falling into an obedient pose with my mouth open, my tongue sticking out of my mouth, the perfect position to allow his cock to shoot its jets of cum into my eager, hungry mouth. I sit and feel hot cream sliding down my tongue and collecting at the back of my throat, waiting for his next command. As I hear him gasping and panting through his orgasm I feel jolts in my cunt – I love to hear him cum almost more than anything.

“Swallow.” Comes his next command, which gives me permission to gulp down his gift and I do joyfully. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” I gush, pleasure blasting through me.

“OK, sweety, I want you to count from 1 to 10.” Master instructs. He can see the furrowed brow on my face as this direction worries me. “go up as far as you can, baby.” He responds.

“You know I have a hard time after 6, right?” I ask, hating the idea of failing any request from my Master.

“I know, baby. Do your best.”

I begin to count, confident in the first few numbers. As each comes out I feel changes ripple through me. My mind seems to expand and fill itself with now familiar information. By 5 or 6 I look back up at the mirror Master had given me and see my hair now more brown than blonde. My face no longer the dramatic palette. Me more myself again than the bimbo I’d become. By 10 I’m back to myself, with the memories of my evening crashing through me.

Once again my Master had changed me for his pleasure. He’d enjoyed taking my mind and leaving me vacant. Taking my inhibitions and leaving me wanton. Taking my life, and giving me one where I fucked for his pleasure and giggled and struggled through the easiest of questions. And I loved knowing that this version of me brought him enough pleasure to fill my mouth with his cum. I love it when I can please my Master. Any way he wants me.