Cosmic bliss... does that describe bimbo transformation stories? In a cosmic horror situation one might imagine a victim having a few choice words about the situation, a few emotions to truly call their own, but a victim to cosmic bliss can't afford that luxury. Entirely possessed, their bodies transform into a living mockery of what they once were. Transformed bimbos are basically guaranteed to run counter to any semblance of legacy they might have expected before, unless they already wanted what a dumb sex pot is able to achieve. There isn't any brains to use for anything, to even comprehend the true horror of their situations. Any choice one could make to fight it is thrown away, gone. Any thought one could possibly have about what's happening, gone. The very idea of putting up resistance wouldn't even occur to them...
They're like zombies, except they aren't dead. They're still the ones experiencing all of this, all in the same chronology that includes their life up until now. The same experiencer, but with an entirely separate cluster of memories to work with. Being someone that dissociates, I think that part of it's why I gravitate to all of this. I'm like a version of myself that mostly only remembers the times where my blood was flowing away from my brain. Whenever I think about those stories I'm coming to terms with indefinite self dissolution while getting horny at the same time, just like the people in the stories. Maybe it's not as drastic as having my entire life ahead of me stolen away, but I'm pretty confident that I won't experience the world as 'me' for a little while. It's just... man, I've got a fucked up relationship with sex.
It's like this world where people like me get to have as much fun as they want, without asking questions like "Can you really consent right now?" because... uh... JUST DON'T THINK ABOUT IT! I may not ever entirely know what's going on but I still want to have fun at some point over the span of my entire life. Literally my body is screaming at me to fuck something, I don't care whether or not I can't remember the past 12 hours. Plus, I really can't deny the appeal of being branded a naughty girl. There's this pervasive part about all of this stuff that magnetizes me here, and whenever I'm away I'm just fascinated by the ethics of it all. Sometimes it's literally just the idea of being happy for the rest of my life, because basically every bimbo gets to be happy forever. Being actually happy forever, can you imagine that?
Anyways, like, being a bimbo would, like, soooo suck. Unless you're, like, already a bimbo. Then it's great!