happy bimbo

Molly is reclined on a pile of oversized pink faux fur pillows. She is the picture of artificial perfection: skin glowing with oil, lips so swollen they catch the light like polished rubies, and breasts so enhanced they rest on her collarbones like two heavy, unmoving pillows. Her hair is a cascade of synthetic honey blonde waves. Her stomach is rounded and soft, suggesting she is perpetually holding a generous amount of the Prophet's blessing.

Molly speaks with a voice that has been completely stripped of cognitive complexity. It is high pitched, breathy, and carries a slow, dopey cadence. She sounds like she is perpetually five seconds behind any given thought.]

"Hiya..." Molly giggles, the sound dissolving into a wet, happy moan. "I used to be... so busy. Sooooo busy.''

She rolls her eyes back for a moment, then focuses on the camera with a vacant smile.

"I remember being Molly the 'Thinker.' Molly the 'Activist.' I used to have meetings. I used to have opinions. I used to have... what was the word? Debates? Ugh. Debates were so lumpy. My head used to hurt all the time because it was full of words and 'why' and 'how.' It was like carrying around a bag of rocks."

She pats her forehead with a manicured hand, then traces down to her swollen lips.

"But then the Prophet showed me the secret. He showed me that thinking is just... noise. Noise makes you angry. Noise makes you want to fight other women for 'rights.' And fighting is exhausting. Now? Now I'm just... pretty. And stupid. And sooooo straight."

A slow, dreamy smile spreads across her face as she shifts position, causing her breasts to sway with a heavy, artificial inertia.

"The best part about being a dumb cunt is... I don't have to make any choices anymore. My brain is gone. It's just... pink mist now. So I let my cunt do all the thinking. My cunt is way smarter than my head ever was."

She giggles again, a wet sound that punctuates her confession.

"My cunt knows exactly what it wants. My head used to want 'equality.' My cunt only wants... impact. My head used to want 'community.' My cunt only wants... fill. When I see a big, strong man, my head doesn't have to wonder if he's 'appropriate' or 'respectable.' My cunt just starts throbbing and tells me: 'Go be a good girl. Go be a hole.'"

She demonstrates, running her hand down her stomach to the waistband of her latex panties. Her eyes glaze over with immediate, mindless arousal.

"See? My cunt is already deciding. It's saying: 'Molly, you're hungry. Molly, you need to be used. Molly, you need to swallow until you can't breathe.' And I always listen to it. Because my cunt never makes a lumpy mistake. It only knows how to be grateful. It only knows how to be... empty."

She lets out a long, contented sigh that turns into a wet burp. A single, pearlescent bubble of semen floats from her lips.

"It's so much easier to be a doll. No more decisions. No more thoughts. Just... following the feeling. Just... being the vessel."

Molly closes her eyes, her head tilting back as she enters a state of pure, instinctual bliss, her body already responding to the unspoken commands of her own emptiness.