Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Heavy machinery

I'm not sure where i developed a desire to physically modify the female form, but i know i have a serious hankering for it. To the point where i have a well fortified bimbo fetish. The aspect that informs my fascination in bimbos doesn't come from their cookie-cutter quality of platinum blond sexpots with 44D busoms. What attracts me to the notion of a "girl-next-door" submitting to the process of transformation into the next Pam Anderson is the idea that she's making permanent changes to her body in order to fulfill a sexual desire.

Yes, i confess, i am a sucker for huge, artificial, can't manage without a back brace tits. Those thick collagen infested lips, i'll allow those to invade my horizon. There are few alterations a girl can make to her body that don't affect me somehow, all because i have the ability to transport this to a need to sexually improve themselves: aka submit to another's intense desire (albeit the media, their parents, peers, their own fantasies, etc.). I'm a person who scans the panoply offering of cable channels for the random plastic surgery broadcasted for our aghast viewing enjoyment. The idea of someone submitting to ultra huge tits, that continue to grow (which is the case of "string implants"), expanding and transforming her body until it is no longer recognizable excites me to no end. This girl must then face her fate and assume her role as a freak, a modified fucktoy.

I have physically modified every girl i've ever been involved with, varying in degree from complete transformation to muted. The one girl who's sole purpose was to fulfill my desire to craft the female form to my liking was the one we shall call "forgirl".

She first came to me in a now defunct chatroom i used to host on body modification and tightlacing. This was singlehandedly the most voluminous way to interact with girls who sought a source of domineering strength in the field of physical management. Any given day, i would encounter 30+ girls who dropped in based on the title of the room alone as it was listed in the Yahoo! chat index. "forgirl" dropped in one day, coming to me with the mostly innocuous interest in pursuing her girlfriend's interest in becoming a submissive. What struck me as odd that a top would come and visit my chatroom which was quite explicit in its main role as a trap for submissive females was that this visitor was herself a submissive.

Several fiery debates followed our initial encounter, where "forgirl" insisted that she was the top in the relationship, and that i needn't think of her as a project i could mold. Mind you, reader, "forgirl" came to me without a single physical modification to her name. Her ears weren't even pierced. Either arrogantly following my lust, or in fact accurately using my senses to track and hunt this willing prey, i decided that it was she who wanted to be transformed.

Through regular visits - visits which had her in the earlier stages insisting the curiosity on submitting to body modification was alien and foreign to her - i was able to whittle away at her resolve. I still remember the first modification command. I told "forgirl" that she was to get her earrings pierced, but not at the local mall where they do it with a handheld piercing gun. Instead, i insisted she go to a legitimate piercer who would take into deep consideration all the necessary mechanics involved in properly impaling someone with metal.

I recognized a golden opportunity with "forgirl". Here was someone so ravenous for the process of transformation, that the submission to the actual act of metamorphesis and then further submission to the altered behavior her newly modified body must take gave her an amazing thrill. Which, when applied correctly, made her even more attracted to physical transmogrification, because she learned the positive effects of giving into impulses and sexual longings. Seeing this over a careful period of observation, I decided to push the accelerator all the way to the floor.

In the 3+ years of our full interaction, "forgirl" had a combined total of over 60 body piercings. These included 8 studs in each of her ears, 24 rings and barbells in her inner and outer labia, 8 rings hung from both of the lips on her mouth and 5 piercings in each of her nipples, which were also subsequently stretched. She was constantly changing out the gauge of the rings penetrating her body, with the goal of making her holes and the skin that surrounded them as big as possible. I loved hearing her break apart at the idea of having permanently altered, pierced and stretched cuntlips that anyone who saw her would know precisely what purpose she served. In fact, this was about the most perfect exposition i could attain in all of this exploration. The self-fulfilling prophecy - that a girl might enjoy becoming a sex object only to find out that the more she allowed herself to become objectified, the stronger the idea she was turning into a sex object became - constantly came up and was repeatedly burnished within our interaction.

All told, forgirl underwent a total body modification. She wore a corset, lacing down to 18" on a regular basis. She wore only high-heeled shoes, claiming that walking barefoot was rather painful. In the evenings, she would come home from work and laced herself in a pair of ballet boots for the remainder of the night. Off and on she wore a chastity belt that was locked on her, only to provide more frustration and difficulty, with accompanying hobble chains and waist band. She also really took to a fetish that at the time of our first encounter i'd only briefly felt comfortable admitting to: that of articifial nail tips and manicure. She maintained nail tips of 2 or more inches. We also managed to induce her to lactate, and with regular (two-a-day) pumpings, she was able to grow her tits rather decisively. She was in fact a prisoner to her own body. If she didn't pump, her tits would ache and grow excruciatingly sore, which would encourage pumping, which only encouraged milk production. And she loved it.

In the end, the natural course of our relationship passed, and she did in fact assume the role of matronly dominant to her partner (who also underwent similar modification). She pops in every once in awhile, asking me to devise a new way she can inconvenience herself. I happily oblige, but it feels mechanical aftwerward, almost as if i'm a vending machine she's popped a quarter in to get a fortune cookie with deviant instructions inside the sugary biscuit. What i find is missing is the give and take, the debating, the maneuvering and the ultimately satisfying euphoria that we were both submitting to her body's need to be modified.

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