A Stroll Through the Garden (2)

The third, Rebecca, was a corporate climber. Her avatar was a perfect, photorealistic representation of herself, but subtly enhanced—taller, fitter, with a more expensive haircut.

Rebecca's perfect, photorealistic avatar began to glitch. The subtle enhancements became exaggerated, grotesque. Her tits inflated with a series of rapid, jerky expansions, like a digital balloon being pumped too full, growing to the size of beach balls, her skin stretching to a shiny, unnatural tightness. Her ass became a jiggling, shelf-like monstrosity, her lower spine arching painfully to present it. Her perfect, expensive hair turned into a tangled, bleach-blonde mess, darkening at the roots into a raven black that contrasted sharply with the platinum ends, and her face, a mask of corporate ambition, froze into a permanent, open-mouthed pout of pure, vapid need, her eyes wide and empty. Her expensive business suit morphed, the jacket shrinking into a tiny lacy white bra that barely covered her nipples, the skirt becoming a micro-mini so short her ass cheeks hung out. With her legs covered in black stockings and black stilletto heels.

//Like, I need a cock!// her avatar shrieked, its voice a desperate, needy whine. //My mouth feels so empty! Can someone, like, fill it up? I'll, like, do anything for a promotion!// She dropped to her knees, her massive tits jiggling, her hands reaching out as if to grasp an invisible cock, her mouth working silently.

In her corner office, Rebecca's phone rang. It was her boss, calling to discuss a major merger. She stared at the phone, her mind a complete blank. She couldn't remember the first thing about the deal. All she could think about was the handsome guy in the mailroom and how much she wanted to feel his cock in her mouth. The thought was so powerful, so overwhelming, that she felt a gush of warmth between her legs. She ignored the ringing phone, her hand slipping under her skirt, her fingers finding her soaking wet pussy as she moaned. She stood up, her body on fire. She needed to be fucked. Now. She marched out of her office, her eyes scanning the floor. She wasn't Rebecca, the rising star. She was Rebecca, the office slut, and she was going to get what she wanted, no matter what.

Finally, there was Maya. Her quiet, indistinct avatar seemed to resist at first, but my will was absolute. Her default model began to flesh out, to take on a new, more exciting form. Her body blossomed into that of a teenage dream, a masterpiece of bimbo perfection, with big, doe-like eyes that seemed to widen with every passing second, a small, upturned nose, and a perpetually surprised expression. Her plain clothes transformed in a flurry of digital sparks, re-knitting themselves into a slutty schoolgirl outfit. A crisp white blouse tied up in a knot just below her new, perky tits, straining the buttons. A plaid micro-skirt, so short it was little more than a wide belt, flared out over her firm, round ass, and her legs were encased in knee-high socks and shiny Mary Jane shoes with a surprisingly high heel. Her brunette hair grew longer, before it adjusted itself into two long ponytails.

//Giggle!// the new bimbo chirped, her voice a shy, submissive whisper that seemed to tremble with need. //I hope, like, everyone thinks I'm cute! I wanna be a good girl for all the boys! Please, someone, look at me! Am I, like, pretty enough?// She fidgeted nervously, her hands clasped in front of her, her body swaying slightly, a perfect picture of desperate, submissive desire.

In her basement bedroom, Maya's world exploded. For years, she had been a wallflower, her only escape the quiet logic of code. But now, a new feeling was blooming inside her, a powerful, all-consuming need for attention. She looked at her reflection in her dark monitor and saw not a shy programmer, but a hot, fuckable little slut. The thought sent a thrill through her so intense it almost hurt. She ripped off her comfortable hoodie and jeans, her hands roaming over her body, which suddenly felt foreign and exciting. She found her sister's makeup and, with trembling hands, began to apply it, her mind no longer thinking in algorithms, but in fantasies of being bent over a desk and fucked like the little slut she was destined to become. She needed to be seen. She needed to be wanted. She needed to be used.

I watched the four new bimbos as they began to interact, their former personalities completely erased. Chloe, the party girl, was already trying to get Brianna, the sexual artist, to "flash her titties for the boys," while Rebecca, the office slut, was on her knees, begging anyone who would listen to "please, please, please fuck her mouth." And Maya, the desperate attention-seeker, just stood in the middle of them all, wringing her hands and whimpering, "Like, does anyone think I'm pretty? I'll be a good girl, I promise!"

They were a perfect, self-sustaining ecosystem of lust and idiocy. My work here was done.