I checked the device in my pocket--it was fully charged and ready. I took a deep breath, calmed myself and entered the faculty lounge. Including myself, it was now full of half a dozen sociology professors. Only one of them was important to me though: my target, Dr. Cynthia Lowe.

The middle aged woman with the tight brunette bun, mannish gray suit, and horn-rimmed glasses was drinking tee, pinkie extended, and talking to the cute new red-headed assistant professor who looked like she was contemplating slitting her wrists to get out of the conversation. I was about to help her out; I needed Cynthia all to myself.

"I just don't understand it!" I exclaimed, "These students are actually stupider than the last batch! Is there something in the water?"

Actually, I like my students stupid--makes my job easier--but I knew my statement would bring out the beast--Cynthia Lowe's Theory.

"It's quite simple, really," Cynthia began her pontification, turning to me, eyebrow raised, "In order for a society to produce intelligent offspring, you need intelligent parents. But you don't get that in our society because men consistently seek out women of lower intelligence than themselves to mate with."

My other colleagues shot me dirty looks. Still, i pushed ahead.

"Well, even assuming that was true, and I'm not mind you, wouldn't the intelligence of the father be dominant over the lower intelligence of the mother? Why would stupidity be selected for?"

Dr. Lowe snorted derisively.

"You've been spending to much time around geneticists! Nurture has much more to do with intelligence than nature. And who does the lion's share of child rearing in our society? The women! But not just any women--those women whose intelligence is sufficiently low as to not threaten the egos of their husbands! And so little girl's have stupid women for role models and little boys Oedipal complexes cause them to be attracted to women like their stupid mothers, they grow up and the cycle repeats itself, creating stupider women and men with every generation!"

I causally sat across from Cynthia, stoking my chin. The hot red head wisely abandoned her proximity to the coming argument.

"That's awfully Freudian of you, Dr. Lowe," I said, knowing it would get a rise out of her.

"Just because Freud was a sexist pig doesn't mean he didn't have insight into male behavior. Indeed, being a sexist pig put him in a unique position to understand his... fellows. Little boys grow up to want women like their mothers and the most intelligent women in our society don't breed!"

I kept engaging her, pushing her to expound more and more on the theory that, behind her back, everyone agreed was developed solely to explain why all three of her marriages had ended within a year. A pragmatist would find the fact that she was a self-centered derisive bitch a much more plausible explanation.

As predicted, the more I encouraged Cynthia to preach her bullshit, the more people remembered other places they should be. Soon it was just Cynthia and me in the faculty lounge. It was time to test my own little theory that there were much better used for Dr. Lowe's mouth than spouting ultrafeminist crap.

"Well, Cynthia, it's a fascinating theory but it's rather difficult to prove."

"Difficult? The proof is all around you. Just take a tour of the undergraduate campus. The ditzy blonde bimbos are surrounded by boys while the bookish girls focused on their studies are completely ignored!"

"Perhaps, but that is merely anecdotal evidence. To do a truly controlled experiment, you'd have to eliminate all extraneous factors and just focus on intelligence.

"But how could I do that?"

"Well, I can think of two possible ways: You could find one of the ditzy blonde bimbos you mentioned and increase her intelligence substantially, measuring her social interactions before and after; Or you could do the opposite study, take an intelligent woman and reduce her IQ to bimbo levels and determine if males find her more attractive."

"You can't just change a woman's intelligence level! Even if you could it would be highly unethical!"

"Actually, my brother is a researcher at a place called BimboTech Inc. and he claims it's a very simple process once you understand it. You could even build a small device to do it, like this one."

I pulled out the black box.

"What's that?"

"My brother calls it the Bimbotron 5000. It works like this."

<click>

"Hey! What are you... What the... Wha... I feel... I feel funny..."

"That's to be expected, Cynthia. What the Bimbotron 5000 does is create infinite logic loops in your thought processes, kind of like a computer virus. The loops take up more and more of your intelligence until you reach the desired level, then it reaches equilibrium."

Cynthia's head got wobbly, as if the room was spinning around her.

"Feels... goooooood." she said.

"Yes, that's a side effect of the infinite loops. Instead of producing actual thought, they produce euphoria. It's a harmless side effect."

Actually, it was much more than a side effect. The way my brother explained it, his little toy made the brain feel so damned good that resisting the rearrangement was, well, unthinkable.

"Now, the more intelligent a woman is when we start out, the greater the number of loops and so the greater sense of euphoria. Considering how smart you were, Cynthia, you should be feeling an incredible urge to..."

"HEheeheeheeheeheeheeEEP!"

"Yes, precisely. An incredible urge to giggle. Well I think it's safe to say that your brain has been thoroughly looped."

"Is that why I feel loopy? <giggle>"

"Yes, you silly little bitch, that's exactly why."

Professor Lowe just giggled. I'm not sure if she was too dumb to realize she'd been insulted or felt too good to care. Not that it mattered.

"Well, Cynthia dear, I think were ready to test your theory."

"I have a theory?" she asked, face blank as she tried futilely to remember.

"Yes, Cynthia, your theory that being stupid will help you get laid!"

"Ooooh," she said as if grasping a difficult concept. "Will it work?"

"Yes, Dr. Lowe, I think you can count on it!"

"Oh goodie!"

"Now for the purpose of the experiment, I think we need to distinguish you before the IQ reduction and after. How about during this phase of the experiment we call you Cindi."

"Cindi?" she asked.

"Yes, I think that's probably best. You might find Cynthia a little hard to spell now."

Cindi giggled a that.

"So lets practice. Say 'Hi, My name's Cindi!'"

"Hi! My name's Cindi! <giggle>"

"That's perfect, Cindi! Absolutely perfect!"

She beamed at the praise.

"Well, let's go test your theory!"

"O.K.!"

Grinning like an idiot, she cheerfully followed me. My original plan was to let her spend a day embarrassing the hell out of herself, but seeing the bitch's brain melt before me had given me an itch that needed scratching. I decided would take her home and give her a body to match her new brain. I grinned at the prospect.

"Hi! My name's Cindi!"

I spun around. 'Cindi' was smiling vacuously at a very confused graduate student.

"H... Hello, Dr. Lowe," he said.

I recognized him as one of the students who had taken his prelim exam last month. Cynthia had really reamed him, asking damn near impossible questions and doing her best to make him feel like shit. He'd probably never seen her smile and no one had ever heard her giggle like she now did when he called her Dr. Lowe.

I was in a hurry to get Cindi thoroughly bimbofied but I figured, 'What the hell!" The kid probably deserved a little something. I went to a small conference room and checked that it was empty.

"Derek, could you step in here for just a moment. Dr. Lowe and I could use your input on a research study we're conducting." I asked the grad student.

Looking questioningly at us, he hesitantly did as instructed.

"Now Cindi, to be a bimbo you need to suck on his penis until he squirts in your mouth. And make sure you swallow!"

With a pat on her ass, I propelled her giggling into the room.

"What the?" said Derek.

"Just relax and go with it" I said. "It's a special research project."

I shut the door and stood watch.

"What's all this about, Dr. Lowe?" he asked the giggling professor.

"My name's Cindi," she corrected. "I'm supposed to suck your penis!"

"You are?" he asked, unaccustomed to any woman propositioning him so frankly, let alone the department's uber-bitch.

"Don't you want me to?" asked Cindi, looking utterly clueless as to the unorthodoxy of the situation.

"No! I mean, Yes, I mean... if you want to..."

Unusual or no, I imagine he had never turned down a blow job before and he wasn't about to start now!

"I'm 'supposed to," Cindi explained and dropped to her knees so she could reach.

"Well... if you're supposed to," the student agreed as she undid his pants and pulled out his dick.

"I've never done this before," said Cindi, "Is it fun?"

"Um yeah," he said, "Really fun!"

"You're gonna love it, Cindi!" I told her.

"<giggle> Oh goodie!" she said and slipped her lips around his cock.

Derek stared in amazement as the giggling professor awkwardly sucked his dick. She was lousy at it, but having the bitch who had made his prelims hell on her knees with his cock in her mouth was enough to make him hard. Whatever was making her act like this and whatever happened later, he knew it was worth it.

"I always knew that deep down you were a cocksucker, Dr. Lowe." I observed and Derek grinned at me.

"Finbee" she corrected around his cock and giggled.

"Cindi. Right. Cindi the slut!"

The professor giggled at this and at last Derek figured it out.

"Cindi the cum-eating slut bitch!" he called her, grinning wickedly.

"MmmHmmm! MmmmHmmm!" she exclaimed, her eyes bright and vacant.

"That's right, Derek," I encouraged, "Give the slut what she needs. Her brain is totally fried and she's not gonna remember any of this."

The kid's face lit up with a cruel delight.

"You fucking cunt!" he called her, "You skanky little cock sucker!"

My brain-fucked colleague just giggled as her student insulted her and treated her like a whore. It was a beautiful thing. It was enough to push young Derek over the edge.

"Oh yeah! Oh yeah!" he yelled, "Here it comes! Swallow it, whore! Swallow it all!"

Cindi gulped and giggled and the grad student shot his wad into her throat. He pulled his flaccid dick out and wiped it on her grinning, vacuous face, then he collapsed into a chair, looking pretty dumbfounded himself.

"Thank you for your participation in our study," I said, helping my sticky-faced colleague to her feet. "I trust you will keep this all strictly confidential."

"What... oh... yeah... confidential," he said, clearly still amazed at what had just happened.

"Take care, kid. And pull your pants up," I advised, then ushered the giggling Dr. Lowe out of the room, out of the building, and into my convertible.

"Here, Cindi," I said, handing her a handkerchief as I pulled out of the parking lot. "You've got jizz on your face."

She stared at the white cloth, grinning.

"Um, Wipe your face with it," I explained.

"Okay!" she said and did.

"Good girl," I said, patting her knee which felt bony beneath those pin-striped slacks. I could take care of that at home if what my brother said was true though.

"Say, do you need those glasses?" I asked.

"Only to see," she said.

"Well then, if that's all why don't you get rid of them?"

"Okay!" she said and tossed the ugly things out onto the street as we turned towards the freeway.

"That's a little better, hey Cindi? Now why don't you let your hair down? After all, I don't think we'll be going back to the department until we've thoroughly tested your theory."

"I have a theory?" she asked, blinking.

"Yes, you have a theory that bimbos get fucked more than pretentious bitches. That's why you want me to make you a bimbo."

"Ooooh!" she said.

"Now let your hair down like a good bimbo," I insisted.

She took the clips out of her bun and ran her fingers through her dark hair, giggling as the wind took hold of it. She was looking more and more the part, but I wanted the works. And my dear brother had sent me everything I needed to make Cindi as much a bimbo as Cynthia had been a bitch. I floored it, anxious to get my science project home.

"Weeeeeee!" my colleague exclaimed.

By the time I got her to my secluded residence, I had easily convinced her to toss her suit out onto the freeway. Giggling in her underwear with her hair blowing in the wind, she wasn't bad looking. A bit skinny and bony, but not bad, especially in contrast to her usual outfits. Still, I could make her better. Much better. I led her down to my basement and the larger of my brother's gifts.

"What's that?" she asked, eyes wide, pointing at the big glass tank filled with greenish liquid.

"That's another invention my brother came up with. He calls it the Body Augmenter Rendering Bimbos Intensely Erotic."

"Huh?" asked Cindi.

"You can just call it the BARBIE machine."

She giggled at that.

"Now take the rest of your clothes off and climb in," he instructed.

"In there?" she exclaimed.

"Yes. We have to fix your body so you can be a real bimbo. This machine will do that."

"Will it give me big boobies?" she asked. Dr. Lowe had a tiny rack.

"Yes, it will. Now loose the undies, up the ladder, and into the pool," I said, slapping her ass.

Giggling, she did as she was told. She plunged into the green liquid. It was super-oxygenated and somehow she was able to breath (and giggle) completely immersed in it. I put in the desired specs, pushed the 'bimbo' button, and watched the magic happen.

The grinning, jiggling, dripping mess that came out of the tank was a wonder to behold. Only the face still resembled Dr. Cynthia Lowe, and even that only slightly, given the vacuous, horny expression completely foreign to the professors face before today. The hair on her head had grown out a foot and a half, gained volume, and been bleached ashe blonde. The hair that crowned her pussy was the same color. Her tits, as per request, were jutting, bouncing orbs the size of cantaloupes. Her hips and ass had fleshed out nicely as well, giving her an hourglass figure that melted into the most luscious legs anyone could wish for.

"Did it work?" asked the ditzy blonde bimbo.

"Oh boy did it ever!" I declared.

"WooHoo!" exclaimed Cindi, jumping up and down, setting her inflated hooters to bouncing and drawing her attention to them. She grabbed hold of them with both hands hand and stared with wide-eyed wonder.

"I got big boobies!" she exclaimed.

"That's certainly overstating the obvious," I chuckled.

She grabbed a tit with each hand and giggled as she hefted them and confirmed they were real. She pinched the puffy nipples and they thrust forward.

"Ooooo!" she cried, "Yummy!"

The big breasted blonde began playing with her knockers, kneading, pinching, pressing together, rubbing. As she did so, she giggled, cooed and squealed.

"Cindi," I said, "Cindi!"

I snapped my fingers to get her attention.

The wet bimbo looked up from her new boobies.

"Hi, I'm Cindi!" she said.

"Yes, I know. I'm Dr. Jones, remember?"

Cindi giggled.

"Oops! I forgot!"

"That's o.k. Do you like the effects of the BARBIE machine?"

"I have big boobies!" she said.

I didn't know if that was a response to his question or not. I guess it didn't matter.

"Yes, they're very nice boobies, aren't they?"

"Mmmm" said Cindi, continuing to rub her mammaries, "Boobies feel good. Cindi feels good. So warm and nice!"

"Yes, you should be feeling very nice. Besides the obvious physical changes, the Barbie machine adjusts your nerves and hormones to ramp up your libido and make your erogenous zones much more responsive."

"Huh?" said Cindi.

"Cindi likes to fuck," I summarized.

"Yeah!" Cindi nodded vigorously. "Cindi loves to fuck!"

"Well then get your ass upstairs so I can fuck you, you dumb bimbo!"

Cindi giggled and scampered up the stairs and I followed, observing that the machine had done as nice a job on her ass as it had on her tits. I slapped her bare-naked ass and she giggled.

"Cindi get fucked now?" she asked when they reached the top of the stairs."

I had planned to do her in the bedroom, but seeing my feminist colleague transformed into the bimbo before me had left me so hard that climbing the stairs from the basement was difficult and going up another flight to my bed seemed pointless when there was a perfectly good couch right there in the living room.

"OK, but I want you to ask me for it." I told the naked bimbo.