Thursday November 15, 2018
Sindi snapped the selfie and sent it off with a blunt message, “R u happy yet u bastard?”
She almost threw the phone across the bathroom but stopped herself at the last moment. Instead she took stock of her reflection in the mirror and let out a heavy sigh.
She still didn’t know who he was, or why he’d targeted her, but for whatever reason she was his victim and she had no control over it.
It had started over three months ago and the only thing that remained the same were her glasses. The big round frames still tried their best to make her look intelligent and stylish, but they had lost the battle weeks ago.
She flicked over to her photo album and scrolled back to the last photo of herself she had before the text message from him had arrived. She had just gotten her promotion to bank manager, she’d splurged and bought a brand new power suit to wear, the light blue and wide shoulder offset her dark brown hair and told everyone she meant business.
The first text message had come in just the next day, from a phone number that didn’t exist, 1-800-531-8008, “You’d look better as a blonde.”
She’d rolled her eyes and deleted it immediately, thinking nothing of it for the rest of the day. It wasn’t until she arrived home after work, having done her shopping on the way, that it came back to her. She’d been unpacking the grocery bag and pulled out a small box that she didn’t remember buying, but it sent a chill down her spine as she read the label, “Champagne Blonde Hair Colour”.
She’d tossed it on the counter and covered her mouth with her fingers as she shook her head, why had she bought that? The text message had come back to her and she’d double checked her phone, but it was gone.
She’d pushed it from her mind, but later, as she prepared for her shower before bed, it came back to her as she worked the chemicals in to her hair and she found herself unable to stop.
It had been a disaster of course, the home colouring kit leaving her hair a mix of red and brown and blonde. She’d called in sick the next day and made an emergency appointment at her salon. When she left, she had a full head of blonde hair.
A few days later the next text arrived, “Time at the gym is time well spent.”
“WHO THE FUCK ARE U AND WHAT THE FUCK DO U WANT!” she’d texted back, but there was no reply and that night on the way home her gym membership had gotten it’s first workout in months.
Much like her hair colour, she had no choice and she was at the gym every day, even twice on the weekends. At some point she’d gotten the bright idea to simply turn her phone off and leave it at home, hoping that would solve the problem.
But several days later she found herself with her phone in her hand, reading several text messages:
“Turn your phone on.”
“Always read your messages.”
“Never leave the house without your phone.”
“You’ve been a bad girl, time for your punishment. Go see a surgeon about getting some upgrades.”
She’d screamed out in terror as she read them, knowing that just like the other ones she’d have no choice but to follow their instructions.
She’d wasted no time either, searching for surgeon while at work the next day, making an appointment and even scheduling her time off.
Once she had healed, the messages kept coming; “Dress sexier, show more skin.”, “Cythia is a terrible name for you, call yourself Sindi from now on.”, “Spend more time on your makeup, make those lips stand out.”, “Show off those new tits more, make sure they’re the first thing guys notice about you.”, “Get a new job, something more fitting to a little blonde hottie like you.”, “Flirt like you want to suck every guys cock.”, “A sexy blonde like you is horny all the time.”
She looked back down at her phone once more, the latest message still there above her latest rant that received no response, “Dump the glasses, get blue contacts.”
Her fingers moved up and slide her glasses from her nose, the world going blurry as she did. She’d go to the optometrist the next day, she knew she would, even as she slipped her glass back on and her reflection and her phone came back in to focus.
* * *
“Can I get you something to drink sir?” Sindi asked as she placed the end of her pencil between her lips and twirled it around as she smiled at the man in the booth. She’d been working at the Hooters knock off for several weeks now and the tight top showed her hard nipples clearly through it. The similarly tight jean shorts showed off her ass and legs as well.
“Sure, a coffee.” he replied and she licked her lips as she wrote down his drink order.
She reached out and touch his shoulder and smiled, “Ok honey, I’ll be right back!” she replied, twirling around and wiggling her ass as she walked towards the kitchen.
It was mid day and the place wasn’t busy, in fact he was her only customer for the last hour and was happy he’d arrived to break up the monotony of her day. It wasn’t like the bank where she had to think to do her work, the diner was just the same thing over and over again.
But if there was one good thing, she hadn’t received a new text message in weeks, not since she’d lost her glasses.
She filled a cup of coffee and started back towards his booth, she’d just set the cup down when she heard her phone bing from the small fanny pack around her waist.
“Like, hang on a sec hon.” she said and pulled her phone out and quickly unlocked it, finding several message awaiting her:
“The man you just severed coffee to has purchased you.”
“You are his property.”
“You are his big titted, blue eye blonde fuck doll.”
“You will use your body to pleasure him in any way he wants.”
Sindi dropped her phone on the table after reading the last message and grabbed it’s edge, her head dropping back as her eyes rolled back and she gasped as the words sunk home.
When she finally opened her eyes, she smiled at her owner, “Please Sir, how may your fuck doll serve you today?”
He smiled back and picked up her phone, adding a new contact “Owner” to it along with his address before sending himself a message.
* * *
Don put Sindi’s phone done in front of her before unlocking his own and looking at the message he’d sent himeself. He added her to his contacts and then texted her back, “My place, as soon as you get off work.”
He watched the message arrive on her phone and her eyes scan it as it did, “Yes Sir.” she replied simply.
He caught sight of her message list just as she picked up her phone once more and chuckled at the second number in her list, 800-531-8008. He doubted she had ever worked it out, it was too geeky of reference to a time when calculators still ruled the business world.
But whatever questionable sense of humour the operators of 1-800-BOOBIES might have, they absolutely delivered what they said they would and he couldn’t wait to get Sindi home and take her for a spin.