The Bimbo Treatment – by mypenname3000

Virginity story: The Bimbo Treatment. Author: mypenname3000. When Frank’s wife Alice injects herself with an experimental, beauty-enhancement drug she is transformed into a drop-dead bimbo, easily convinced to do any sex act. This part is including of Science-Fiction, Anal, Blowjob, Body modification, Cheating, Drug, Male/Female, Oral Sex genres.

Virginity story: The Bimbo Treatment – Chapter 1A: The MILF Patient

Author: mypenname3000

The Bimbo Formula

Frank

“Negative reaction on subject #103-b,” I said into the tape recorder while massaging my lower back. I sat hunched over the lab in the basement of my house. I sat the white lab mouse into the cage as I fought the urge to let out a frustrated sigh. Instead, I adjusted my glasses and ran my hand through short, brown hair.

There was a time when I didn’t have to use a slapped together lab in the basement of my house. Once I worked at Beigh-Taylor, or BT for short, a massive chemical conglomerate that produced everything from food flavors to pesticides and everything in between. The company had patents in every field of chemistry. I worked in the beauty products department, developing new chemicals to revitalize skin or to create a waterproof mascara.

Then I hit on a revolutionary idea.

But BT didn’t think my work had much merit and was just wasting the company money. So they canned me six months ago. But I knew I had been close to perfecting my formula. It would change the landscape of feminine beauty.

My formula would completely rearrange a woman’s body, giving her the perfect figure they all lusted for. No need for costly breast augmentation, liposuction, botox injections, and tummy tucks. No evasive procedures that produced sub-par results.

I would revolutionize the world of plastic surgery and make millions.

And since BT wanted no part of my work, they would miss out on the fortunes I would reap.

Luckily, my dear wife Alice still worked at BT. She had wanted to quit when I was fired. She supported my work. Well, it was really our work. I may have come up with the idea, but she was a big help in the experiments. I worked more the theoretical side chemistry, and she was more in the practical side, working in the testing department.

Since she still worked at the company, she was able to sneak out the equipment I was currently using. The company was always going through supplies, a few extra here and there would just be written off as standard losses. I was worried for her—it wouldn’t do for both of us to be unemployed—but I loved her taking the risk and getting back at the company.

She may not be the most beautiful woman, or the skinniest, but that would change if I cracked the formula. I would love her anyways, but having a gorgeous, sexy woman would be just the icing on the cake that was my wife and best friend.

I grabbed the next white lab mouse, examining the female rodent for any changes. I had over fed them, the little mice plumper than they should be to make sure the chemical worked. The white mouse’s nose twitched as I examined her. It was all perfectly humane. Nothing I injected them with should be lethal. A small tag on her ear labeled her as 103-F.

“Negative reaction on subject 103-F,” I said into the recorder. Half the mice were injected by my wife with a placebo and the other half with compound 103. I had no idea which, creating a double-blind test to eliminate my bias.

There were twenty mice in the current lot. I worked through each of them. None seemed any lighter. The scale showed them weighing roughly the same. There were minor fluctuation, both up and down, but not the dramatic change in weight I was hoping for.

“Looks like lot 103 is a failure,” I sighed, stretching my back. I took the mice over to the larger cage, letting the females join the other mice, running happily around on the sawdust. There would have to be a month before I could reuse those twenty mice—the chemical bonded with fat cells, so I needed to make sure it was out of the mice system.

I stretched my sore back and then logged the results on the computer, before I called my wife to tell her the bad news.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alice

My cell phone rang. I looked up from my computer and grabbed it off my phone. Frank was calling. An excited rush shot through me. “How’d the test go?”

“Failure,” Frank sighed.

“Yes, I had a feeling the diphosphate-3 wouldn’t bond properly with the fat cells, but we had to know.”

My husband’s research was so exciting. It would make us billionaires if we could crack the formula. I adjusted my wide bottom in the tight computer chair. And I wouldn’t mind the effects. I tried to loose weight, but no diets ever worked for me. Frank was a great guy and loved me anyways, but I wouldn’t mind being sexier for him.

After all, he had the sexy, compact body of his. He had the slender build you see on hot nerds. He kept in shape. We both jogged, it was just Frank had a lot more success with it. I adjusted my glasses as Frank went over the results.

“I think we should try some phosphate-3-fluoride-2-benzoid with the next compound,” Frank said.

“Ooh, that’s interesting.” I leaned back in my computer chair, my short, red hair brushing my neck. My current haircut was a bob. It was just easier in the lab than having long hair, even if it wasn’t the most flattering cut. “That might help with the fat bonding issue. It should let the hydrogen-di-methylhydride do its work.”

“Exactly.” I could almost see Frank’s grin on his face. “But we don’t have any phosphate-3-fluoride-2-benzoid in the lab.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I promised.

It was exciting stealing from the company. They were so heartless when they fired my husband, so why shouldn’t I help him out by getting the supplies we needed? They were a big company. They wouldn’t even notice.

“Alice, are you taking a personal call?” my supervisor, Donna Wilson, asked as she lumbered over.

“I’m on the phone with Volstock Labs,” I lied without thought. “I’m telling them the results from the trials we just ran.” Actually, I had spoken to the representative an hour ago.

“On your cell phone?”

“It’s just easier,” I shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Would you like to talk to the rep?” I held my breath.

Donna squinted at me. “Use the company’s line next time, Dr. Jackson.”

“Sure, Miss Wilson.” My supervisor lumbered off. It was so demeaning reporting to a woman that couldn’t pass a remedial high school chemistry course.

“I see the fat hag’s still riding you,” Frank muttered.

“Yes,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Listen, I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Love you, pumpkin.”

I smiled. “Love you, too, my sexy, mad scientist.”

He let out a cheesy, fake laugh before I hung up.

I set my phone down and stood up, walking to the lab storage. I pulled on the rubber gloves and safety goggles, grabbed a test tube and stopper, and searched the shelves for the bottle of phosphate-3-fluoride-2-benzoid. It was a florescent-green liquid. I carefully poured it into the test tube. Then, feeling bold, I grabbed another two test tubes, filled them, and slipped them into my lab coat’s pocket.

I removed the gloves and goggles, putting them back where I found them. I had a jaunt to my step when I walked back to my desk. Donna Wilson was waiting, her arms folded beneath her breasts. She glared at me, her unflattering face twisted by a smile.

A shiver passed through me. “Yes, Miss Wilson?”

“President Beigh wishes to speak with you?”

“Why?” I asked.

Donna’s smile only grew. She handed me my phone and purse. “Follow.”

I trembled as I followed behind Donna, her heels clicking as she walked. I wore more comfortable flats. I hugged myself tighter in my lab coat, wincing every time the glass test tubes clinked in my pocket. There was only one reason I had to see Veronica Beigh—I was in trouble.

The company know I was stealing supplies and chemicals. This was it. I was about to be fired.

The lab I worked in was in the basement. We rode the elevator up to the fifth floor, the highest level of the building. There was only one time that I had been up here, and that was when I was a week after they first hired me ten years ago. I wasn’t Alice Jackson then, but Alice Dean. I had met Frank that day. All the new hires, most of us straight out of grad school, were brought up to meet President Taylor. Now Taylor was gone, forced out by his partner, Veronica.

She was a ruthless cunt.

Donna walked us down the hall, past the offices for the other executives. We reached Ms. Beigh’s secretary, a young woman with a big smile on her face. “She’s expecting you,” she said with a pleasant tone.

Maybe I wasn’t about to be fired?

Ms. Beigh’s office was spacious. It was bigger than my lab, taking up the corner of the building. It gave a great view of the forested land that surrounded BT’s campus. Veronica sat at her desk, her hair cut mannishly short. She was a thin woman, completely flat-chested, and with a nose that might be bold on a man, but was just too big on a woman.

But her eyes scared me. Those cold, blue eyes bored into me as I walked up. Donna took the only seat on the other side of Ms. Beigh’s desk, forcing me to stand there. I swallowed, my breath quickening. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead.

“Some disturbing news has reached me,” Ms. Beigh said, turning her monitor. It displayed a Youtube video.

My stomach churned. It was one of my husband’s videos.

Ms. Beigh hit play.

“My wife is injecting the mice with compound 87. We have high hopes for this one.”

My plump face, framed by my bobbed, red hair, whipped around. “You can’t be watching. You can’t know which mice are injected with which compound, Frank.”

“I can’t see the tags from here,” Frank laughed. “I just like watching you work.”

The me on screen blushed and smiled.

“When we crack the formula, the world will change. Plastic surgery will be a thing of the past. If you want to support our—”

Ms. Beigh paused the video and fixed her cold eyes on me. “This is a very troubling video, Dr. Jackson.”