Bimbo Accountant

by Narcissa Rivers

  BIMBO ACCOUNTANT: FROM BLAND TO BLONDE

  BIMBO TRANSFORMATION EROTICA

  BY

  NARCISSA RIVERS

  A SMALL OUTTAKE…

  Oh, I hope it’s a man, she thought to herself, not stopping to ponder why she hoped for that.

  When she pulled the door open, her face lit up with a gorgeous smile and she ushered her visitor in with enthusiastic greetings and active hand motions that threatened to bring her towel toppling off of her ample breasts. The caller was indeed a gentleman and a mighty handsome one at that. He adjusted his glasses with slight nervousness and skulked in, taking off his camel-colored jacket and hanging it by the door. The fellow accountant was tall, broad shouldered and had steely gray eyes. He was obviously uncomfortable in the presence of a barely clothed female, but one could hardly hold that against him. Though, admittedly the first thought Emily had gotten when she sighted him was that she would greatly enjoy straddling him.

  “Are you Emily Slinsky? I’m James McArthur and I believe we were supposed to have a meeting. Very sorry if I caught you at an inopportune time.” he said, a nervous question in his voice. He seemed less than comfortable with her scant clothing. Emily nodded happily and plopped down on the couch, making the cat yelp and trundle off somewhere to be a different kind of nuisance. She patted the cushion next to her and the man took a seat, clutching his case. He was a slightly geeky kind of hot, but still hot.

  Emily inhaled deeply, catching his musky scent in her nostrils, and she could feel herself getting wet immediately. At any other time she would have blushed like a schoolgirl, but not now. This new, better Emily was not bothered by conventional wisdom and morality, instead she went with her gut and what her gut was telling her now was that she would very much like to have a cock inside of her.

  Copyright © 2014 Narcissa Rivers

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Bimbo Accountant: From Bland to Blonde

  Bimbo Transformation Erotica

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Narcissa Rivers. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover image © DepositPhotos, user aarrttuurr

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  A SMALL OUTTAKE…

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RELATED BOOKS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  A dull light peeked through the partially drawn curtains, casting an irritating beam of iridescence across Emily’s writing. She’d been slaving away at tax forms for weeks now and it was all becoming enough to drive a woman insane. The weather outside was excruciatingly gorgeous and she could have no part of it because work had piled over her head and there was no way to dig herself out of that mess other than to actually do it. She sighed under her breath and crossed out some calculations she had done on a separate sheet, glaring at them hatefully. It would be nice for at least the math to check out, even if she could only loan about half of her brain power to the task at the time.

  Her legs were curled under her on the wide leather office chair, still dressed in pajama bottoms and a ratty t-shirt. Long dull brown hair was set up in a loose, messy bun, secured with a pair of (clean!) chopsticks she had found on her first trip to the kitchen for her morning coffee. Her horn-rimmed glasses teetered perilously on the end of her slim nose, threatening to come falling off of her delicate, but completely forgettable features. A half-eaten bagel sat on top of a pile of reference books and lukewarm coffee was partially hidden under the growing mess of paperwork that littered her desk.

  “I hate tax season,” she grumbled loudly across the small apartment, her sole captive audience composed of the red tabby cat that slept on the couch. He barely moved the tip of his ear before going back to willfully ignoring the disgruntled female. Emily scribbled another long line of digits on some notebook paper and then promptly colored over them with wide strikes of her pen. She rested her head on her hands, still holding onto the pen, and moaned to herself. Nothing was going as she had planned it.

  The original plan of attack had estimated that she’d be long done by now with all of it. Emily was an accountant for several small businesses and private clients, working primarily out of her nondescript apartment in a less than stellar part of Brooklyn. She had gone to great pains preparing for this year and as it did every year, the work completely got away from her. Old forgotten clients piled out of the woodworks, practically begging her to tackle the tangled messes that made up their paperwork, while other more reliable clients turned up with double the expected documentation, which lead to having to work twice as hard and thrice as long to accomplish anything. The only minor upside to it all was that her bank account was looking plusher than it had in years. The rather unfortunate downside, however, was that she could feel her sanity slipping away about as quickly as her income was growing, if not faster.

  Her misery had gone from hanging her head to resting it mutely on the hardwood table, thinking dreary thoughts and hating herself for ever deciding to become an accountant. It was mind-numbing work and her mother had always told her she was such a bright girl. Could have become a doctor or a physicist or something, but nope, she had to choose a life of mediocrity and stale coffee. Her mood really wasn’t great at the moment.

  Emily checked the clock on the wall and frowned. It was almost noon. She had gotten nowhere with the things she had planned to do that morning, but it was time to take the chopsticks out of her hair and rush to a meeting that had been planned for her at 1 PM. Her long legs uncurled from the protective balled-up position and touched the chilly ground, before finding her slippers and shuffling off towards the bedroom. She was far from enthusiastic about the whole thing, but bills needed paying and even during tax season she couldn’t say no to a potential new customer.

  A friend of hers, Missy, had set it up for her. She had described the client as a ‘nice little old lady who runs a specialty shop’, which could have meant anything from a sex shop to a Chinese noodle place for all Emily knew. With a certain amount of resignation, she dressed in some comfy jeans and a pullover that wasn’t too tight, combed back her hair and checked her teeth. With everything looking as per usual, she grabbed her worn bag, stepped into her comfy slippers, threw on her coat and off she went on another daring adventure to accountant mediocrity.

  Emily in general was a rather unremarkable woman. She wasn’t tall or short and everything else about her was bland at best. Her eyes were a lovely blue shade, but just a bit too light to really be striking. Her hair was medium length and healthy, but thin and unremarkable even with the best shampoo commercial treatment. Emily’s figure was stuck between flat as a board and that odd phase that 13-year-old boys get when they start growing in every which direction without any rhyme or reason for it.

  On top of that, she had a hard time giving a damn about what she looked like, so the combination of all those things and her sheltered lifestyle made for a woman who had done her best to not see life in particularly bright colors. She wanted to tell herself that it was all going according to her master plan, but she knew full well that as much as she wanted things to be different, she could never muster the courage to change anything.

  In her dreams
, she was a gorgeous heroine, swooping about and solving complicated mysteries and getting swept away by dashing men on horseback (or in a nice Ferrari, depending on the age of the fairytale), lauded for her brains and beauty. In reality, she was a woman who barely dated and had about four friends who remembered that she existed to begin with. It was not an enchanted life.

  Emily hiked through the busy streets of New York, catching the metro and drudging through unknown streets until she was so far away from any place she recognized that she may as well have been in Africa. Instead, she had wandered into China Town and as many a tourist before her had found, it was hard to get directions around there. Finally, she found the street she was looking for and after wading through a convoluted numbering system, even the right building.

  The mousy maiden was standing in front of a little magic shop, which had dried heads of various sizes and ethnicities hanging above stuffed rodents and bottles of questionable-looking powders. It looked to be fairly dark inside without a single patron milling about, but Emily figured that could be expected. After all, how many dried heads did the average New Yorker need in their household? She would like to think that the number was somewhere between zero and minus ten.

  Emily gulped before she pushed through the door and entered the iffy looking little shop. The door closed with a click behind her and she cast a few questioning glances around herself, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  Unbeknownst to herself, she had just stepped into what would be the makings of one of the biggest adventures she would ever have.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The whole place smelled like incense and lost innocence. Emily hadn’t been aware that she could smell stolen virtue before, but supposedly one learns something new about themselves every day. She walked through the tiny store with careful steps, trying not to bump into any of the creepy cupboards and shelves, filled to the brim with eerie contents. Emily pulled the coat around herself a bit tighter, even though it was not cold in there.

  “Hello?” she called out, trying to hide the quake in her voice.

  “C’mon, I’m in the back, dearie!” a chipper voice echoed back from somewhere deeper in the store, allowing the woman to take a few more confident steps and round the corner to the back area of the store. She was faced with a wilted shadow of a woman who could just as well play the part of a mossy knoll without anyone being the wiser. The little crooked-looking woman sat behind a round table with a worn red tablecloth tossed over it and seemed to be laying out Tarot cards in front of her.

  “Don’t be shy, Emily. Come sit down, I was expecting you,” the little lump of an old lady said, waving the accountant over. Emily squared her shoulders and slunk closer, taking the chair that she was offered opposite of the peculiar patron. She tried not to stare too much, but it was pretty much impossible. The woman was hunched over and almost uniformly gray, from the tips of her ragged looking hair to the tattered shawl tossed over her shoulders. She had a crooked nose and seemed to be missing a few teeth and all in all she could have probably had an illustrious career as a Disney villain.

  “So, I understand you need some accounts taken care of,” Emily began, trying to shake the discomfort from herself. The little woman shushed her and started putting down cards in front of her, looking quite focused on the task. Emily piped down and watched to woman count out the same cards time and time again, each shuffle producing the same result. Emily, of course, didn’t have the slightest clue as to what it could mean, but the owner of the creepy store seemed to be rather enthralled by it. Finally, she looked up and gave the confused accountant a crooked smile.

  “Well, it seems you’re in for a bit of a twirl. I’ll e-mail you my info later tonight,” she said, fumbling around for something in her pockets as Emily frowned with slight confusion.

  “E-mail?” she stammered, finding it difficult to believe that such an old-timey looking gal could have been affected by the knowledge revolution.

  “Yup, e-mail. I have your address, don’t you worry at all. But dearie, the cards are rather clear, you need to make a big change in your life. None of this drab nonsense you’ve been going with for your whole life! Promise me you’ll take a few days off and have fun before you start with the paperwork again, okay? Tax season is long!” she cackled happily, and before Emily could say anything, the perplexing creature threw a handful of dust at her and chanted something in Latin.

  Emily coughed and rubbed her eyes as they started to water when the dust hit her. She scowled, trying to get the fine grains out of her windpipe.

  “Why did you do that?!” she asked, only to be treated to a dismissive hand gesture. The tiny witch jumped off of her seat, now becoming even shorter, and ushered Emily out of her seat and towards the front door without much of an explanation.

  “You’ll see, you’ll see,” she mumbled, poking at Emily to get along faster. A few seconds later, the door of the small ‘specialty shop’ closed behind her with a bang and Emily found herself back on an off street in China Town, covered with dust and still hacking up some of the stuff from her throat.

  Definitely the oddest meting I’ve ever had, she thought to herself as she headed back towards the metro station.

  When the young, generally uninteresting accountant reached her apartment, she made a straight beeline for her bed and barely managed to kick off her sneakers before collapsing on the covers, still wearing her jacket. She’d been battling falling asleep during the trip home and it had become a fight that seemed more impossible to win by the minute. When she finally reached her apartment, her sigh of relief actually spooked the cat. Emily had been feeling faint and tingly ever since getting doused with the dust. If it weren’t for the sleepiness, she would have been sure to scratch herself all over as if she was suffering from bad case of fleas.

  Never going to meet an odd job in person again, she thought before her consciousness drifted off to sleep. She would only be given a few hours of rest before another accountant was set to come meet her to discuss some work related issues. Thankfully, she had set an alarm to go off half an hour before the meeting, which was fortunate since the girl really had no recollection of any previous engagement by the time she got home.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When the girl finally awoke, the sun had almost set. She yawned deeply and shrugged of the jacket, a big smile on her face. Emily felt somehow different, better. She gave herself a curious look and her mind skipped a beat when she saw that the body she was inhabiting did not resemble her ordinary bland self at all. Her breasts were almost bursting out of her top and her waist had shrunk to a distant memory of what it once was. All of her features felt more limber, somehow prettier and smaller. Her ass had grown in size and was now attempting to rip a seam on her favorite jeans and her nails had suddenly become long and pink. The woman frowned to herself and got up, heading towards the bathroom to see what was going on.

  She did a double-take when she was faced with her reflection. Her hair was long, luscious and blonde now, the perfect tone of rich housewives and California beach babes. Once thin and faint lips had become full and lush, almost seeming to glisten under the lighting. Her blue eyes had become a stark baby-blue and her cheekbones were higher while her chin was smaller. The only feature seemingly left intact was her delicate nose. Against better judgment, Emily smiled widely at her reflection and gave a little twirl. She stripped down to her underwear and admired her newfound body, tight and perfect as it was. Her bra did a shoddy job at containing her new, bigger breasts and she unclasped the flimsy garment, allowing it to fall on the ground.

  Everything felt somehow happier, better. Her head was cleared from all of the worries that had pestered her that morning and it felt like nothing really mattered anymore, aside from maybe having some fun. She twisted her nipples and bit her lip as they perked up, lifting the heavy globes with her hands and letting them fall down to really feel the weight. Emily had suddenly been given the body she never knew she wanted and her constantly worryin
g brain had been wiped clean of woes and questions, free to enjoy her new bimbo self.

  Every little touch and sensation felt as if it was heightened tenfold, her body responding deliciously to her own touch. She was just about to slip her fingers down her tight stomach and sample her slit, curious if that had been changed as well, when a doorbell rung and dragged her out of her revelry. The girl huffed, a sliver of a distant memory floating back to her about some arranged meeting that day that didn’t involve creepy little ladies. Emily grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, bounding out of the bright bathroom and towards the front door.

  Oh, I hope it’s a man, she thought to herself, not stopping to ponder why she hoped for that.

  When she pulled the door open, her face lit up with a gorgeous smile and she ushered her visitor in with enthusiastic greetings and active hand motions that threatened to bring her towel toppling off of her ample breasts. The caller was indeed a gentleman and a mighty handsome one at that. He adjusted his glasses with slight nervousness and skulked in, taking off his camel-colored jacket and hanging it by the door. The fellow accountant was tall, broad shouldered and had steely gray eyes. He was obviously uncomfortable in the presence of a barely clothed female, but one could hardly hold that against him. Though, admittedly the first thought Emily had gotten when she sighted him was that she would greatly enjoy straddling him.