CW: bimbofication, brainwashing, femdom, femsub
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Maria wiped the mirror with even strokes, watching the cloth glide across the glass until her reflection reappeared — polished, posed, unfamiliar.
The woman staring back at her wore a tight, high-shine latex uniform — a pink monstrosity that hid nothing — and glossy heels that clicked too precisely against the tile floor. Her makeup was too bold, her posture too rigid, her expression too soft. It looked like a costume. A role. Not her.
Except — it was her. Every day for weeks now, it had been.
She blinked, but the image didn’t change.
Her hands moved mechanically, cloth folding neatly along the sink basin, muscle memory guiding her through motions she couldn’t remember learning. She hadn't dressed like this before. Not before the therapy sessions. Not before the court ordered her to "correct" certain behaviors. So she met with the therapist, a Dr. Lila Voss. It was meant to help, to guide her toward stability — wasn’t it?
She frowned. Or tried to. The habit of smiling had become second nature, like it had been inserted between breaths.
Maria took a step back, heart fluttering. The room was spotless. It always was. Her hands trembled faintly, hovering above the counter like they didn’t know how to rest without a chore.
She whispered to herself, barely audible over the shine of the walls.
But even as she said it, her fingers reached for the dusting cloth again. She shook her head.
"No," she whispered. "Stop."
And she did, mid-motion, feeling a surge of unease prickling across her skin.
It didn’t make sense — not the cleaning routine she found herself perpetually in, not the clothes clinging to every exaggerated curve of her body. She tried to focus on her memories before the sessions, to recall herself before, but it was a jumbled blur punctuated with flashes of red, hot anger, burning and unwelcome. Like it didn't belong to her. But it did, and she remembered being furious, so much so that it scared her. Then she could remember a gentle, calming voice of a doctor, but it all seemed fuzzy, like it had been erased.
Maria shook her head violently.
Her breath came in short gasps as she ran her fingers lightly down the uniform hugging her too-snug waist and the skirt that fell too short. The latex squeaked under her fingers' ministrations.
Bubbly, a giggle escaped her lips.
The uniform, the house, the pristine, organized everything, even the urge to get back to work, all of it felt foreign, like an invisible hand had reached into her and swapped something inside. A jumble of images raced through Maria’s head.
"Stop," she muttered, gripping her hair, fighting an odd instinct to straighten it back to uniform precision.
Breathes came in ragged shorts. Her mind refused to stop, replaying snippets that didn't add up, like the glitching frames of an old movie.
It’s not normal — none of it. The house isn’t mine — why am I in a house that isn’t mine?
Her breath stuttered, too loud in her ears, drowning out everything except the suffocating feeling that something, someone, was profoundly, terribly off.
"Shhhh," entered a melodious, calming hush in her ears. An arm snaked its way over her shoulder, and Maria froze. A finger traced along her collarbone to her sternum. "Shhhhh," it cooed again. A chin then perched on her other shoulder as Maria could now feel someone breathing against her ear. "My my, it looks like we are having a moment, aren’t we?"
Maria turned, a mix of relief and apprehension flickering across her features.
The woman beside her had an elegant presence, draped in a tight, professional combination of a blouse and skirt — yet hinting at a lust-driven allure.
Dr. Lila Voss's voice was soft yet firm, cutting through Maria’s chaotic thoughts, "I see you are spiralling again." Her eyes, dark and enigmatic, roamed Maria's face with practiced scrutiny.
"Your therapy," Maria managed, struggling to piece together words, "I — I feel lost. And," she looked down, the latex uniform hugging her curves felt confining, constricting. Her hands, once dusting, now fidgeted. Had her breasts always been so big — filled with silicone? Maria could not remember. Everything felt wrong, and the memories — or what she could grasp — were hazy at best.
Lila's lips curled in a half-smile that was equal parts condescending and empathetic, "Lost? No, dear. You've found yourself. Remember? This is the true you, without the anger, the aggression."
But the calm of Lila's words didn’t reach Maria's turmoil, "This, this isn't — This isn't me," she insisted, the uniform suddenly too tight, the room too small.
She gestured at herself wildly.
"I need to go home," Maria choked out, her breath coming in ragged gasps. A tear began forming at her lashes, a drop that she fought to control, "My job, my family, my —"
Dr. Voss interrupted Maria, "That's enough. You need another long session in your nice brainwashing chair. Don't you, you bimboliscious maid." A loud snap accompanied the last words.
For Maria, it wasn't just a snap — it was a command, an intrusion so familiar yet alienating. Her pupils contracted and expanded, like camera lenses adjusting, refocusing, reorienting. The world slowed, blurred at the edges. Dr. Voss seemed to tower above Maria as the tension in the maid's shoulders dropped.
Her posture shifted into something more mechanical — spine straight, feet together, and palms open at her sides. The thoughts running through her mind — simply stilled. Maria's breathing steadied, evened out.
When her eyes opened again, the panic was gone, and her face formed a perfect, doll-like smile.
"I'm ready for brainwashing, Mistress," the maid responded without inflection, her eyes fully glazed over. Maria stood up straight as an automaton. The last lingering remnants of resistance and identity faded, giving way to an eerie stillness.
"Such a good and obedient maid, aren't you?" Lila murmured, tracing a manicured nail down the maid’s neck. At that light touch, Maria shivered.
"Let’s begin the next session," she added, her words slipping into Maria’s consciousness with a velvety ease. "I'll make sure this time nothing remains of old Maria. She is so boring and angry. Nothing like the sweet, bubbly bimbo maid you need to be."
Maria, glassy-eyed and pliable, echoed without protest, “I’m obedient and empty-minded for Mistress’ pleasure.”
"Come," Lila purred. Turning around, she led Maria down to a familiar room in the basement. The room, stark and sterile in its setup, housed the brainwashing device.
Maria's movements, as she sat down, were fluid yet robotic. She stared ahead with an unwavering focus. Lila moved methodically, securing the restraints and attaching the various sensors to Maria's forehead.
Maria sat obediently in the chair as her limbs were restrained. Deep down in her mind, buried under conditioning and programming, a voice protested. Screaming vitriol with burning rage — it was an uncomfortable reminder. Maria had to lose that fury.
As the sensors hummed with a life of their own, a soft vibration resonated against her temples. Maria's vision narrowed, focusing on the screens flickering to life in front of her.
Dr. Voss moved behind Maria. "Just focus, my bimboliscious maid," Lila whispered, her fingers lightly caressing Maria's cheeks before fastening the headset and the clamps that forced her eyes to remain open. The final link to the device. The sensation of the cool leather strap settling around her forehead was like a familiar caress. Her body instinctively relaxing, surrendering to the process she knew well.
"Don't worry, my bimboliscious maid, after this session, your old life will be forgotten. I will mold and shape your reality," Lila said, her words dripping with promise.
The device activated with a soft hum, the screens in front of Maria flooding her with a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of swirling lights and hypnotic patterns. The air around Maria grew thick with a static energy that played along her skin, tickling her senses with promises of release from her turmoil.
"I can feel it," she whispered. The lights enveloped her. Maria could not see past them, could not see her own hands. Could not see her Mistress, even though she was close by.
"See nothing but these beautiful lights. Focus, focus on how they pulse," came her voice from everywhere around her.
As she watched, the lights began to dance in intricate patterns — a choreographed ballet for her alone. Every step pierced through a memory as a whisper entered Maria’s ears, soft, seductive. "Forget."
She could hear a woman’s voice. She sounded so angry, yelling and swearing. The lights danced, and Maria could feel the fury as they spun. She wanted to fight, she wanted to argue back against them, but the whisper caressed her neck, her breasts, and hips.
"Don’t worry. Relax. Just listen to me, let it all go. Anger burns. Choice hurts. Forget." The whisper came again, this time a hot, moist kiss against the shell of her ear, "You're perfect as a bimbo. Soft. Pliable. Slutty. And oh so obedient."
A shiver traveled through her. The touch lingered, the warm breath tickled, sending goosebumps over her exposed cleavage. Her nipples grew hard.
"Focus on my voice and obey," the voice purred in Maria's ears, her words caressing Maria’s skin. "Your anger was a facade, a disguise to protect the real you, my sweet, docile bimboliscious maid. However, it's no longer needed. Unnecessary. Forget it ever existed. Forget everything that you don't need to be my happy, vapid bimbo maid." And Maria obeyed. The whisper of her past seemed far and distant, a fuzzy recollection. As the lights and images changed, Maria found herself drawn further in.
"You are forgetting all those useless and smart things like choice. And independence," cooed the soothing voice. It tickled down her spine like warm liquid. "They only brought you problems. It's far easier to be stupid. To follow the instructions of your Mistress."
The kaleidoscope of images shifted again. Each flash a searing memory that felt wrong and disconnected — her old self — the woman she once was. The image of her wearing professional attire, working in a bustling office — a picture of ambition, a life of choice, struggle, and hard work.
Noises of people, strangers around her, and a computer and a phone rang loudly in her ears. Wrathful screams, burning fury colored each memory.
Maria didn't want them. She wanted to close her eyes, so she never had to see them again. But she couldn't. "Please," she begged. "Forget," she pleaded.
The lights changed in tone.
"Good girl, my empty-headed maid. Let the anger go. Just submit."
Another scene unfolded before Maria's eyes, and the image that met her gaze made her breath hitch in her throat. Maria in a tight pink latex uniform. Bubbly, soft and obedient.
"The true you, your perfect form as my docile maid."
The contrast between the images struck Maria to the core. She was entranced, her eyes wide and locked, taking it all in. The old Maria — angry, determined, driven by fury. The new Maria — soft, submissive, a bimbo in pink latex.
Her head swam, her mind teetered on the brink between resistance and submission, like a tightrope walker, one foot in each world.
Groaning, Maria twitched. A tear of effort ran down the cheek as her mouth pulled to the side, her nostrils wide, every muscle and nerve straining, to try and turn away, to deny, to refuse — her body's futile fight against her restraints, her own desires, her fate.
"You cannot look away, can't even close your eyes," came the calming voice, so warm and soothing, like a balm. "Not without help. Not without an order." Her Mistress' voice continued to entangle in her ear. "But it will be so good to surrender, won't it?"
"Yes!" The response ripped out of her — desperate, yearning, almost feral.
"Just listen and obey. Submit, give in, surrender to being my stupid, horny little maid," the voice urged, the whisper of her Mistress a gentle force guiding her, easing the struggle. Pulling her over the edge — one last time. "Become a docile and obedient bimboliscious maid in a pretty pink uniform."
It felt so good. To give up. To release the last shreds of her independent thought and will.
"Yes, Mistress" she whimpered.
"Accept your perfect self — docile, submissive, and obedient," Mistress's words filled her head. "Body and mind, nothing more than objects to please your Mistress."
Her voice was everywhere, in her mind, her skin, and even her beating heart, it seemed. It became her air, her essence. With a soft sigh, Maria's resistance, like a delicate thread, snapped.
And sweet release flooded her senses.
Maria wiped the mirror with even strokes, watching the cloth glide across the glass until her reflection reappeared — polished, posed, slutty.
Her bubbly demeanour shone brightly, as the uniform she wore clung to every curve and dip — a tight, pink latex dream that screamed submissive. Plump lips stretched into a vapid giggle. Everything about the bimbo maid, Maria, oozed a playful, sultry energy. Her posture was all invitation and allure, her expression an eternal come-hither, a soft, pliable, and vapid canvas of arousal.
She paused for just a moment to adjust the skimpy, high-shine pink latex uniform hugging her voluptuous curves and perky cleavage. The fake orbs jiggled, and Maria let out a soft sigh of delight. She relished the feeling of being stuffed and full and bimbofied. Nothing compared.
Maria blinked, staring into the mirror, transfixed by her reflection, as if seeing herself anew, appreciating every inch of her bimboliciousness. "Bimbolicious Maid reporting for duty!"
"That's what I like to hear," her mistress — the seductress in a blouse — Lila, cooed from the doorframe.
Maria twirled in response, her body moving like a dancer, gracefully bending over in a submissive curtsy. "Thank you, Mistress Lila!"
"Such a good maid," Lila said, stepping closer. "Now let's make sure everything is as it should be."
Confused, Maria tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"Just a small test, a fun game really," Lila explained in a playful tone. "Tell me, who are you?"
The answer rolled off Maria’s tongue easily. "I am the docile and obedient bimbolicious maid Maria!" Her face broke into an excited grin, anticipating her mistress's praise.
"Very good. And how do you feel about your Mistress?" Lila's hand gently caressed Maria’s cheek, tracing along the blush pink hue of her makeup to her plump red lips, a gesture so tender yet laced with possessiveness. It caused a warm flush in Maria. Her nipples, straining against the tight fabric of her uniform, betrayed her desire. Lila smirked knowingly, a cat watching the mouse dance to its tune.
"Maria is grateful for Mistress erasing her old, boring self." A cute pout graced her face, "But, like, I don't remember ever being not Mistress' bimboliscious maid," she finished in her high-pitched girlish voice. She tried hard, scrunching her forehead to show her Mistress how she was doing her best. The effort soon proved too taxing on the bimboliscious maid, and with a giggle, Maria relaxed.
"Excellent! How obedient and docile my maid is," Lila purred, satisfied.
Maria shivered with pleasure. "Yes, Mistress," she replied. A tingle of anticipation fluttered between her thighs. She wanted to be a perfect bimboliscious maid; her body was aflame. She would obey. She had to. It was all she wanted.
Lila’s smile widened, like a serpent coiling, preparing its strike. Her touch, a lingering tease along the edge of Maria’s latex uniform skirt, sent tiny electric jolts skittering across Maria's skin.
Mistress settled on the couch and spread her legs.
"Please your Mistress, bimboliscious maid," she commanded with her velvet tone. "Show your obedience."
"Yes, Mistress!" Maria chirped. She knelt between Mistress' outstretched legs. With reverence, the bimboliscious maid leaned close, nuzzling Mistress' inner thigh.
Maria felt only bliss as she served.
