Bimbo Bodysuit 2

Dr Sarah Nayleigh was deputy chief at London Neurological Research Hospital, and was shocked to receive a call from the duty manager one Sunday about her head doctor, Catherine Chalmers. She rushed in to find security sitting with an improbably built woman – blonde, tattooed, and possessing an unnatural body the likes of which Sarah had never seen. 

Her cheekbones were high, lips bolstered by filler, her breasts nothing short of colossal. A living sex doll.

“Thatʼs Dr Chalmers,” said the duty manager. “She left a note explaining herself – here it is.” Trembling, Sarah took the note and read it as her college walked away.

Dear Dr Nayleigh

It has been a pleasure to work with you, and I want to thank you for all your help and support. I presume youʼre looking at the new me, or youʼve seen me at least. All the work weʼve done led me to this – a fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Iʼve given everything to the work, and my notes and research are yours now. I wonʼt be able to understand them any longer. When you read my notes youʼll understand why.

I did this in full knowledge of what I would become, what I would lose. But Sarah, Iʼm going to gain so much. Sexual liberation, freedom from troubling morality. After all Iʼve done for the world, arenʼt I entitled to have something for myself?

Please try to understand, and give me the chance to be happy in my new body.

CC

Sarah was rocked to her core. Catherine was on track for the Nobel Prize, why would she do this to herself? Sarah had always looked to Catherineʼs intellect, her no-compromise passion for making lives better… Her hero had a secret “lifelong dream” to be a bimbo? How could this be? She turned to peer through the office window again. This time, the bimbo was on her knees, the security guardʼs thick cock stretching her plump lips obscenely.

Sarah fled to her office in tears. She couldnʼt watch her friend do that nasty thing… Swallow that manʼs semen… Feel it drip onto her huge tits…

The idea had been planted in her Sarahʼs head now. Her own plain face, uneven saggy breasts and poor skin had never attracted a man for more than a cursory date or two. She was smart – brilliant even – but also kind of shy and wrapped up in work. Sarah had thought Catherine was the same, but clearly sheʼd been harbouring a desire to be someone else altogether.

In Catherineʼs lab, Sarah went through her notes, reviewed the tests she had conducted, did test runs with the custom equipment. Catherine had used her own DNA to grow an outer suit, a kind of second skin that integrated into her biological systems. It was revolutionary. Nerve threading, neurological interfacing, biologically engineered prosthetics, cellular integration – Catherine had tied all the projects theyʼd been working on into her personal makeover.

Maddest of all, Catherine had used the previously unsolvable issue of impaired brain function as a feature rather than a bug. By protecting the nervous system and connected brain processes like hunger and desire, she had sacrificed all complex reasoning and part of her long term memory. Catherine would forget – if she hadnʼt already – who she had been. Sarah felt sick and shocked… But there was something else too, a strange envy. Catherine had made herself beautiful in a trashy kind of way, made herself effectively younger. And sheʼd made herself incapable of regretting her decision.

At night Sarah was plagued by images of Catherine pulling on her new body, gasping in pleasure as her old flesh joined with it, the chilling sight of intelligence fading from her eyes. And then the bimbo Catherine, Candy, leading Sarah to a wardrobe. Inside was another suit, for her. A bimbo Sarah.

As an experiment, Sarah wanted to see if she could follow Catherineʼs notes and recreate the process. She used her own DNA with Catherineʼs architecture. She jettisoned the tattoos and some of the unnatural features that Catherine had added, but found herself unable, or perhaps unwilling, to change other elements. 

The platinum hair, the exaggerated figure. 

The massive breasts.

Over weeks, the Sarah suit grew in the cell tank. Sarah diligently noted everything bar the introduction of her own chromosomes. If sheʼd been facing up to the truth, she would have gone to her therapist. Sex dreams dominated her nights, and she found herself masturbating in the bathrooms or in locked offices multiple times a day. She had a sick fascination with Candyʼs transformation, and Sarah imagined herself in a big-jugged bimbo body, being fucked senseless, eyes rolling back in her head and tongue lolling out of her brainless head.

Sarah told herself it was all for science and that she would never put the bodysuit on, but she became obsessed with it, tweaking the suits appearance, the roundness of the breasts and curve of the hips. She bought clothes and sexy lingerie for it. She let herself think it was an idle fantasy, but part of her was getting ready to jettison her whole life.

Growing and altering the flesh of the bodysuit was complex enough, but the truly revolutionary part of the suit was the way it integrated at the seams. This was done through an engineered virus on the internal walls, which fixed nerve endings from the body into the suit, then built a new pathway to the nerve ganglia. This in turn fed back to the brain. The lips, eyelids, nipples, labia and sphincter would be joined through nano-biotic action. The brain needed to be prepared via the administration of various to avoid unwanted damage. Only the impairments Catherine had predicted would happen. “The desired amount of disability”, Sarah thought, washing her cum from her hands in the hospital bathroom. “Iʼll only be stupid enough to have fun.”

On the morning Sarahʼs suit finished, she sat on the laboratory floor, crying. Sarah cried for her friend, lost in a permanent act of self-sabotage. She cried for the world, which had taught her to revile her own body. She cried for her lonely life, her career, and the fact that she could not stop herself from following her friend down the rabbit hole.

With the taste of the neural plasticity formula in her mouth, Sarah stripped and ejected the suit from the nutrient bath. She held it in her hands, felt the heavy breasts weighing it down, stared into the lifeless face, ran her fingers through the blonde mane. Swallowing her nerves, she turned the suit around and slipped her legs one by one into the hole in the the back, down the warm inside of the limbs.

The second that her toes wriggled into place, the suit began contracting and the integration process began. Sarah felt a tingle from the sole of her elegant new foot as her nerves were permanently interlinked with the bodysuit. Her blotchy, unappealing legs were soon entirely encased in the shapely limbs she had carefully designed, followed by her arms. Sarah felt giddy as she admired the salon-perfect nails on the tips of her smooth new hands.

It was like she had drunk a couple of glasses of wine a little too quickly. She felt liberated, even elated as she aligned the body of the suit with her own torso. Only the head was left, dangling in front of her. She could feel the back stitching itself together, closing around her, a flesh corset. The head had to go on now, then the aperture fusion would begin.

Sarah took a last look at her boring, ugly, aging face in the reflection of a monitor, before pulling her beautiful new mask over it. The suit sealed closed.

Sarah felt the suit squeeze around her, and her face slotted precisely against the holes in the mask. Her thin lips sat within the full, sensual ones of the suit and were subsumed. Her old eyelids withered to nothing as the suits fresh ones clung to her eyeballs, and her old nose compressed into the cartilage of her new, straight one. Her ears folded away as the suits perfect shells adhered over her ear canals.

The suitʼs heavy, hanging breasts were rounded and firm. They looked fake, but were engineered from real flesh. They housed superior mammary glands which absorbed her old small tits and drew the nerves through to the outer ones which made her new nipples so responsive. Sarah was one of the most stacked women on Earth now.

Lower still, the merging of her outer labia with those of the suit drew a gasp from Sarahʼs perfect mouth. A jolt of hormones boosted her clitoral sensitivity and size, and the nearly-assimilated woman pushed her hand down through the blonde tuft of pubic hair to feel it, round and hard against her fingertip.

Finally, as her gorgeously sculpted bottom fixed into place, Sarahʼs sphincter was rehabilitated by the ring of muscle in the suit, the two holes first pressing together, then the threads and fibres knotting and intertwining. Sarah came hard, and literally blew her mind.

The orgasm sent nerve responses from her new skin, her clit, arsehole and nipples, her lips, fingertips and feet, arching her spine and wiping her old life almost entirely away. Her education, her ethical code, her history leaked away. Her very name was out of grasp.

Within grasp though, were a gorgeous pair of huge titties and a wet, tight pussy.

And up the corridor was a security guard that she knew had a big dick. The bimboʼs voice was high and breathy as she wandered out of the lab and towards the front desk.

“Hey handsome… Will you come and help me? Iʼm lost and lonely. My name is… is… Sa–Ra-Na-La? Sarana? I guess itʼs Sarenna. Do you like my boobies?”