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Hello all! Today I’ve got a BRAND NEW story out for you–“Heir Salon.”
This hot little tale delves into a number of fantasies of mine that I have CONSTANTLY–the slow moral and mental corruption of a lovely woman into a bimbofied servile, fertile beauty; men transforming into take-no-shit alpha studs who know EXACTLY what women are for; housewives daydreaming about their husband’s cocks and giving him every last baby he could ever hope for; lactation and cum being triggers for all these hot mental and physical transformations; and a bunch bunch more!
This story follows Betty, who has been disgraced by Castle Industries–which now employs her husband. (That’s right–it’s the same Castle Industries from my “Maid Made Bare” stories–it’s a spin-off!). They arrive at the town of Passion Heights, and quickly discover that everything is rather…strange and erotic. And they can’t help but join in, even as they try to escape.
So! If a hot bimbofied tale of a independent, intelligent woman slowly being transformed into a hot, servile, fertile babe sounds like fun to you (and I hope it does!), check out “Heir Salon” today!
Here’s the official blurb:
Passion Heights is a company town run by the enigmatic Castle Industries, responsible for the beautiful activist Betty Kincaid’s fall from grace—and now employing her husband. But, after arriving, Betty and her lovely, full-figured new neighbor Jasmine notice lots of strangely erotic coincidences. The marriage rate is close to 99%, and every couple is either expecting or spilling over with fertility. Women are air-headed, giggle-happy sex dolls made for pleasing men and producing heirs—and every hot beauty boasts creamy products from their overflowing cups. And men are rugged, ripped alpha studs designed purely for protecting and ruling their women.
The two fierce feminists know something is up, but whatever corrupts the other women in the town affects them too. In trying to discover the secret of Passion Heights, their own passions are driven to new heights with their wildly developing need for their husbands’ bodies and huge, hard male members! Complicating the situation, their own bodies are slowly altering—becoming mirrors of the sexual goddesses surrounding them in the town. To find answers, they must investigate the Happy Hair Salon, where women enter as intelligent, independent women and leave as servile, fertile nymphos utterly dedicated to obeying their virile husbands.
Excerpt:
“Hey, doll.”
Okay. That was enough. No more. “No one calls me doll, asshole.” Betty put her hands on her hips. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
He approached her slowly. An enormity of a man. A mountain. A behemoth, a god. Every second he left the shadows made Betty sorry she had spoken out of turn. Betty saw him coming and thought that perhaps somehow she was dreaming. No one that big could actually move so languidly, with such easy, panther-like grace. And yet this hunk did. His head was probably almost the size of her entire torso. He neared seven feet tall, maybe three or even four hundred pounds, but all of it was clearly muscle. He had on a suit, but it was held loosely, his shirt unbuttoned at his chest to reveal the marble-like hardness of his muscles underneath.
She had started drooling before he even touched her. But then his hands came across her lips, and all she could manage was soft, unintelligible babble. Baby sounds. Cooing. Gahhing. It wasn’t so much that he was attractive, even though he clearly was. It was also just that he rendered Betty somehow into the mental state of less than an animal, perhaps some primordial ooze stunned by a cell’s ability to replicate itself. It was that primal, the reaction. That basic. His musk lit her cunt on fire.
“You’re such a pretty woman,” he said, stroking her face.
His voice was a deep bass. A cascade of giggles emptied out from Betty, unable to stop herself from needing to please this giant.
“If you had a better attitude, you’d enjoy yourself a whole lot more. Smile sometime. Wear a skirt. Maybe some heels. And have the food. It’s good for you.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, dark chocolate truffle, and placed it in her mouth.
“My wife spent hours on these. Her own special recipe. Milk she made herself. Eat.”
Gulping, she chewed and obeyed, and did so still when he fed her another, and another. The milk chocolate core splashed against her mouth, coating her tongue and gums with sticky, unstoppable gooey warmth. She started to feel high. Her lust exponentiated. His fingers tickled against her pussy for a moment, reaching up her dress, and her excitement almost shut her brain down—but he only ripped her panties off. Like he was tearing through tissue. She was sure she was cumming, somehow, without actually orgasming. It didn’t make sense. None of this did…
