Black Bimbo

Sitting on the Pink Line, my thighs spread so wide that the wet pinkness of my vaginal canal peeped out visibly between the folds of dark brown labia, I smiled brightly at the woman across from me. She gave me an embarrassed glance and tried to look away, but I kept smiling at her and her eyes kept returning to meet mine, and flickering down to my crotch, until finally she gave in and stared at my dripping pussy, which was already beginning to seep its wetness out onto the thin plush and plastic seating.

"Pretty, isn't it?" I said with a giggle. She swallowed hard, glanced nervously to see if anyone else on the train car was watching us, and nodded. She was dressed like a suburban mom, but a few years too young to be one: sensibly short haircut, light jacket over a modest beige top, Uniqlo semi-casual trousers and gray sneakers. It was hard to get much of a sense of her body beneath the jacket, but stocky Midwesterner with a very low ratio between her chest and waist measurements seemed like a good guess.

Whereas what she was looking at was very different: giant fake tits over a narrow waist, a giant fake ass to match. My natural hair was close-cropped and dyed platinum, with a long hot pink weave braided into it. My eyeshadow was the same color of pink, and my lips (not surgically enhanced but as puffy and bee-stung as God made me) were outlined in gold. I wore a pink little sweater stretched so tight across my boobies that the buttons were visibly straining at the buttonholes, with a crop-top white tee underneath that showed off my gold belly-button chain. My miniskirt was also pink plaid, although it was mostly scrunched to the sides so that my open legs could display the wetness between them. Hot pink stripper shoes with laces that went halfway up my shins completed my ensemble: plus some gold jewelry, most notably a necklace with the word "Bimbo" dangling over the dark valley of my enormous cleavage.

"Want a taste?" I asked her, giggling again, spreading my fingers along my thighs so that the hot pink acrylic fingernails showed against the dark skin, pointing towards my center. This was my favorite part of the game, teasing a normie girl with my sexy self until she either had sex with me or tried to have me arrested. My exposed pussy dribbled even more at the thought of either response, and I could feel my nipples crinkle tight against the sweater as I waited for her to answer.

Six months ago, I couldn't have imagined having the courage, much less the desire, to flash myself in public and proposition strangers on the L. Six months ago I had been a studious, dedicated engineering student who spent most of my time outside of class at the library, where it was quiet enough for homework and the occasional catch-up on the sleep I had missed the night before. I was tall enough that they had wanted me to try out for basketball in high school, but I was too clumsy and nerdy for that: so the quiet, tall black girl with glasses who kept to herself and spent hours on her laptop in the corner every evening had become a familiar sight in my local library.

One of the librarians, an older woman named Rashonda, had gotten to know me a little. Not so much that I felt she ever was interrupting my studies, but she was greeting me by name, asking after my family, and knew what I was studying within the first couple of weeks of the new semester. She was a bigger woman, with a very carefully maintained short brown haircut, a sharp eye, and an easy smile; beneath her casual chambray-and-jeans attire, she had the kind of body I thought of as motherly or even grandmotherly: large-breasted and -hipped, and hands that knew what to do in an altercation. She wore no jewelry or nail art, and I sort of knew she was gay without ever hearing it said or even really thinking about it consciously; but I'd never thought of her as being interested in me in any way but auntie-like.

But one evening when I felt the need to stretch a little after an exhausting set of theorems, I glanced down through a row of shelves I didn't usually go near and saw a young woman leave Rashonda's office. I wouldn't have thought twice about it, probably, except for the way that she was dressed. It was the dead of winter, but she was wearing a lime-green bikini top and bottoms, with bright yellow fishnet stockings. Her hair was similarly bright yellow, and her makeup was brilliantly green. She shrugged a large fur coat around her shoulders and wrapped it, covering herself up, before making eye contact with me, and then she smiled. She took a few steps towards me, opened her coat so I could see her almost-entirely naked body, and watched my reaction.

Her body was eye-grabbing: skin the color of Crayola brown, breasts the size and shape of melons, thick thighs and slender ankles in form-fitting vinyl boots that matched her bikini. I saw a necklace glitter on her chest in the fluorescent library light, but couldn't read what it said. She stared at me with a bright smile, and then took a few steps closer. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. What was this gorgeous stripper (I assumed) doing approaching me? I was so obviously a broke college student that my worn hoodie had coffee stains that I couldn't afford to have laundered out until next week.

"You like this, baby?" she said. I could read her necklace now. It said "Bimbo."

"Not here," I heard a voice say. "Not her. Go on now."

Both the girl and I jumped, and realized for the first time that Rashonda was coming up behind her. She nodded to the girl, who wrapped her coat around her with a giggle and strutted off towards the stairs to exit the building. I stared after her, and Rashonda regarded me thoughtfully.

"Who is that?" I said.

"She's Keke. I help her out sometimes," said Rashonda, not looking away from me. "Seems like you're fascinated by her."

I swallowed, and then shook my head.

"I have to get back to work," I mumbled, and turned to return to my table, my laptop, my stacks of books and papers.

"Akhinita," said Rashonda softly behind me, "I'm only going to say this once. If you want to be like her, you can."

I stopped short. It felt like all the breath had been knocked out of my body. I wasn't sure what emotion I was feeling. It was like a spinning coin waiting to fall on one side or the other: if it fell one way, I would be angry and insulted and lash out; if it fell another way, I would be too frightened to move. But it continued to not fall, and I slowly realized that the tantalizing excitement of waiting for the emotion to break was the responsive emotion I was experiencing, and I realized also that my nipples were hard and my panties were damp, and I turned around and looked at her.

"How?" I asked.

Rashonda walked with me to my desk to gather my things, then took me back to her office, and locked the door.

"Akhinita, are you a virgin?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"Do you like boys?"

I hesitated, and she moved on.

"Have you had sex with girls?"

I shook my head.

"Do you want to?"

I hesitated again, but she waited this time.

"Maybe," I said.

"Do you want to give up your college career?"

I shook my head.

"Why not?"

"My parents would be so disappointed in me."

"Would they be reliant on the income your degree would bring?"

"Well, no. They're doing fine."

"Then what do you owe them?"

I didn't answer this, and she moved on.

"If I asked you right now to take off all your clothes, how would that make you feel?"

"Nervous."

"Anything else?"

I squirmed a little. "Excited."

"Would you want to do it?"

"A little."

"Why?"

"Because you want me to."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Did I say that?"

"No, but if you asked me to do it, I would assume you wanted it."

She smiled, and sat back in her chair a little.

"How often do you masturbate?" she asked conversationally.

"It depends. If I'm really stressed, like once a week. But if I don't have too much to do, like every day."

"When was the last time you masturbated?"

I thought about it.

"New Year's."

She shook her head disapprovingly. It was almost February.

"Do you want to masturbate right now?"

I nodded.

"Why?"

"That girl."

"She made you horny?"

"I guess. At first she scared me, and I only realized I was horny after."

"When I told her what to do?"

A light dawned on me, and I nodded slowly.

"Do you want me to tell you what to do?"

My stomach tightened, but my nipples stiffened even more.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Take off your hoodie."

I wriggled out of it, and sat in my undershirt. The office was not warm, but I didn't feel cold.

She regarded me thoughtfully.

"Do you like your titties?" she asked.

I looked down. My little buds were barely visible under my shirt, with only my thick nipples making any real dent.

"No," I said.

"But you liked hers?" I nodded. "Do you want titties like hers?"

"Yes ma'am."

She pulled a drawer open in her desk, picked up a card from it, and handed it to me.

"If you decide to do this, you'll call this number and make an appointment. Tell them I sent you. It'll be covered."

I stared at her.

"I'm not a pimp," she said.

"I didn't say----"

"You didn't need to. This isn't about making money, it's about giving you girls what you want." She smiled and gestured at the building. "Obviously I believe women should pursue intellectual paths, if they want to. But if they want to be sexy bimbos and give themselves and other people a good time, they should do that too."

I clutched the card and stared at her wordlessly.

"Let's see that body now," she said.

I stood up and peeled off my undershirt before scooching my pants, tights and underwear over my ass and down my legs all together, stepping out of them to stand naked in Rashonda's office. The only window was high in the wall, and nobody could see through it without a ladder.

Rashonda nodded, had me turn around a few times, and wrote a few things down on a pad.

"These measurements should suit you," she said, "but it's up to you." I put the paper with the card in my backpack, and stood a little awkwardly, waiting for what would come next.

Rashonda stood up from her seat and came around so that she was on my side of the desk. She leaned back, resting her large rump on the desk itself, considering me.

"May I touch you?" she asked.

I nodded, and uncrossed my arms so that my body was open to her. My skin is dark even by black standards, but under her appreciative gaze I felt less embarrassed by it than I ever had being naked with someone before.

She put out a finger and rubbed it along the cleft of my pussy.

"Very wet," she said, and I smiled in agreement.

She felt my breasts, my hips, my waist, my limbs, and ran her hands up and down my back.

"You have good bones," she said. "You'll be able to carry any shape you want."

I smiled shyly, and thanked her.

"Do you still want to masturbate?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Really badly," I admitted.

"Go ahead. Show me." She gestured toward the seat I had stood up from. "Sit down if you want to."

After a moment's hesitation, I did, and began to circle my clitoral hood with my fingertips. She watched me carefully, making no comment, only glancing between my moving fingers and my concentrating face.

It was a relief to touch myself after the past half-hour, but although I could feel it taunting in the distance, my orgasm never approached. I knew it would be useless to chase it, and began to slow down.

"Why are you stopping?" she asked.

"I won't be able to cum," I said.

"Why not?"

"I'm not comfortable enough, I guess."

She nodded, and picked up another card from her desk, and wrote on it with a pen.

"You'll want to visit this pharmacy, and request a bottle of this. Tell them I sent you, and it'll be covered."

"What is it? Is it drugs?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"It's a simple hormonal stimulant. It will make you capable of achieving orgasm in any environment, under any conditions. You don't need to take it if you don't want to do that."

I took the card obediently. She leaned forward to look me in the eyes.

"Do you want to cum now?" she asked.

I hesitated, then nodded.

"Do I have your permission to make you cum?"

"Yes ma'am."

She gripped my shoulder with one hand and felt for my pussy with the other, keeping her eyes locked on mine the entire time. Two fingers slid into me, and I felt my body convulse in response.

"Good girl," she said quietly. "Cum for me. Cum for Rashonda."

I trembled beneath her gaze, and whimpered as her fingers thrust deep and hard into me, then slid almost entirely out, and thrust in again.

"Your pussy's hungry for me, isn't she?" she murmured. I nodded. "She wants to cum for me doesn't she?" I nodded again.

Her thumb began to hammer on my clit, and I bucked wildly in my chair.

"That's right," she said. "Your clitty wants me too." Her other hand slid from my shoulder to my throat.

"May I choke you?" she whispered. I nodded. My pussy was on fire, the fingers thrusting into me and my clit being hammered were making my head swim already. Her fingers tightened on the sides of my throat, constricting my airflow so breathing became harder and harder.

"Now for the G-spot," she breathed, and I felt her fingers curl up in me and tap the roof of my vaginal canal in time with the blows on my clitoris and my body jerked involuntarily and there my orgasm was all at once, crashing through me and making me shake like a rag doll under her hands. When my head stopped swimming and my loins stopped spasming I realized that there was liquid all over my chair and spotting her pants and shirt too.

"Oh my God," I said. "Did I----"

"You only squirted," she said with a smile, licking her fingers as though to prove it. "You'll be wonderful."

I smiled contentedly at the praise.

Rashonda helped me back into my clothes, gave me some websites to look at in order to learn about my body, both as it was and as it would become, and gave me some advice on what to tell my parents when it became clear that I wouldn't be finishing my engineering degree.

"It's an extremely racist, sexist field," she said. "You only need to tell the truth about how you've been treated by your teachers and your peers."

It was true that I had experienced all the usual racism and sexism I had expected, but on the other hand I had expected it; why would it only get to me now? It wasn't until Rashonda stated outright that she had known I was clinically depressed since I first came to the library, and any competent psychologist would agree, that I began to understand just how toxic the environment I would be leaving behind was.

The next few months were a blur: surgery appointments, surgeries, recovery from surgery, regular doses of the hormonal stimulant, epic masturbation sessions, more occasional visits with Rashonda, meeting some of the other girls she had helped.

I loved my new breasts and ass, and could hardly stop touching myself the moment they had healed enough to do so. My panties would become soaked through practically as soon as I put them on, and I soon got into the habit of wearing none at all. I shaved off the stringy dreadlocks I had used to hide behind in class and at the library, and got contacts instead of wearing glasses. I smiled much more, and even found myself giggling when I spoke, I was so horny and giddy.

The first time I met Keke again after my transformation, I ran right up to her and kissed her on the mouth, our big fake tits squishing together. We were on the street outside the library, and we rushed inside and into the public bathroom, where we fucked each other's brains out in the stall. Then I introduced myself, reminding her of the gawky girl in the library that Rashonda had shooed her away from. She was very sweet, and when we strolled out of the restroom arm in arm, she bragged to Rashonda that she ended up having me in the library anyway.

Like Keke and the rest of Rashonda's girls, my life was now dedicated to finding women who didn't know they wanted to fuck me yet, and helping them figure it out. Which is why I was spreading my legs wide on the Pink Line and asking the young suburban mom sitting across from me if she wanted a taste.

"We can't," she whispered across at me. "Not here."

"Sure we can," I giggled. "I do it all the time." I dipped my index finger deep into my pink wetness, and withdrew it, showing her the little dollop of pearlescent cream that rested on the tip of my long pink acrylic.

"There are people," she said, glancing down at the other end of the car, where the rest of the few passengers that were left towards the end of the line were sitting. None of them were looking at us.

"Are any of them someone you know?"

"No, they're strangers."

"Then why do you care what they think?"

Her cheeks turned pink at that.

"It's illegal," she said at last. "Public indecency."

I plunged three fingers deep inside me and moaned out loud. She tried to look away and pretend she wasn't paying any attention to me, but I saw her peeping out of the corner of her eye to see how tight my pussy stretched around my fingers.

I licked my fingers off.

"I'm publicly indecent, but I'm not in jail," I said with another giggle. "Anyway you didn't answer me. I asked if you wanted a taste. You didn't say yes or no."

Her lips tightened as her cheeks flamed pink.

"Yes," she snapped out finally, as quietly as she could.

"Not until I taste you first," I said, laughing at how long it had taken to get to my line.

She stiffened in her seat, outraged, and then looked again down at the other end of the car.

"You want me to," I said, licking my full lips slowly with my pink tongue.

"Fuck," she whispered. The train hurtled along. Two stations before the end of the line.

She unbuttoned her pants suddenly and began scooching them down her thighs. Immediately, I was on my knees in front of her helping. The pants were too inelastic to allow for her to spread her thighs enough unless they came down below her knees, but she was unwilling to get that naked until I shrugged and began to head back to my seat. "Fine," she hissed, and yanked them down. I spread her knees, pushing her pants down to her ankles, and knelt forward, inhaling her scent.

I loved this part. Every woman's scent was different, every woman's taste was different, and I savored it every time I got to experience a new pussy. My tongue slithered forward and tapped very gently on her clitoral hood beneath a layer of short hair. She jumped a little, and then sighed, and moved her hips forward, giving me better access.

I forgot about everything else in the world, and buried my face between her thighs. Since beginning my new life under Rashonda's tutelage, I had tasted dozens, maybe even hundreds of pussies, but it was a magical event every time, and my entire world became the fussy little pink slit, the angry red labia, the fluids I coaxed from between the taut pussy walls, and the grudgingly engorged clit that finally woke up to my repeated tongue lashings.

The train slowed to a stop, and the station announcement chimed. There was a vague noise of people shuffling off and in; I was lost in the bliss of getting this fresh pussy to respond to me. I felt her hands on the back of my head, but she never pulled, only pushed me in further, indicating that she wanted more. So I gave her more, and she squirmed beneath me.

When the next station announcement chimed, I inserted a finger. She convulsed responsively, and I scratched the roof of her vaginal canal gently with my acrylic. I heard a deep intake of breath, and her legs squeezed around my head. The orgasm was coming. I licked strongly twenty more times, timing them with my finger thrusts, and then tightened my lips around her clit and began tapping it hard with my tongue while my fingerpad beat against the rough G-spot. She exploded with the first actual out-loud vocalization she had made yet, and curled her body tight around my head, almost in the fetal position, until the quakes stopped. The train began to brake. I sat back on my heels, patted her gently on the knees, and began to pull up her pants.