Title: Newly Minted Bimbo, Chapter 2
* * *Professor Gordon Cedar was teaching his morning class of the day. He did love his college, and he did love his job, but sometimes in the mornings it was a little difficult to keep focus on what he was doing, on where he was and where he needed to get from there.
On a basic level, there was the syllabus— and there was today’s class on the syllabus, and all the material they needed to cover. If he had viewed this as what he needed to progress through, that would have been sensible. But the way he always viewed things was by a metric of minutes; how may minutes he needed to progress through, how many minutes until he was at the other end of the class period, and was free from this classroom.
He’d been teaching for years enough that he was capable of delivering good lectures even while his mind was wandering; even while he was distracted. He was good at what he’d spent so much of his life doing; he had internalized how to do so much of it. And yes, the days on which he felt truly inspired, then in his lectures he was able to speak brilliance.
But days of true inspiration weren’t constant. He had them more often than some, he knew— but not every day. Eventually there came mornings like this one where every moment seemed to drag, and then the only thing that seemed to make it bearable was distancing himself from reality, drifting into a half-daydream, until all time seemed to have streaked away, carrying him to the other end of the class period as if it were the surface of water bearing him along on waves. He was grateful for his inherent skill on days like this. It was so handy to be able to just step out of time in his thoughts and only come back to it when he found his students filing out before him.
He looked out into his class again, not even hearing the words that were coming out of his mouth. Ah— he’d forgotten— this was the class that Yumi Sakamoto was in; that bright young woman of twenty-one. Gordon saw her around campus, sensibly so, since she was a fulltime student of his college— there were many other students in the lecture theater, and many other students Gordon taught across his entire courseload, but Yumi always seemed to stick in his mind, and he always took special notice of her when he saw her passing by, or, in this case, sitting down.
Ah, now that he saw her— if only the issue today was monotony, a boredom he needed distraction from. This was no longer the case. Seeing Yumi gave him a different difficulty; now he needed distraction from her, needed to make sure his eyes stayed off her, that they only fell upon other students who did not dazzle him— who did not seem to consume his thoughts.
Luckily, he was just as capable of carrying out his lecture by rote in favor of fleeing the present when the impetus for that flee was escaping fantasies of Yumi as he was when the impetus was escaping boredom. He just made sure not to look back over to the corner in which Yumi was sitting.
He had noticed, however, before looking away, that she did look remarkably tired— not like her normal self at all. Eyes glazed, and expression dazing— not the student he knew, but he couldn’t risk looking back at her and dwelling on her current affect any further than he had already done.
The fact of it was, he felt quite a severe twinge of guilt as a result of his fascination with Yumi. He knew how inappropriate it was— after all, she was twenty-one years old. An adult, yes— but he himself was fifty. He’d been alive a full halfcentury, and she had only just barely reached her second decade— not to mention the inherent conflict of interest, given that she was his student and he her professor.
It was the kind of thing he could have lost his position for— and he had worked for so long, and for so many years, to build the kind of reputation he had. All of that could be lost in a moment, if he was ever foolish enough to act on his fascination. He’d made professor in his very late twenties— a bit of a prodigy at the time— and he’d been happily inculcating himself in his role ever since, building his list of published research, building his list of works, steadily, year by year.
Honestly, given that he’d made professor about twenty-two, twenty-three years ago, he had technically been in his role longer than Yumi had even been alive— one more reason his fascination was foolish.
At least he knew how to handle it— he refused to indulge it, to allow looks at her which might quickly become suspicious. After all, he did know how to behave, even if his imagination didn’t. He was always the consummate professional when in the work environment— if that were not the case, he likely wouldn’t have been able to stay in place for over two decades.
But though he was entirely proper on campus, when he was in the sphere of his personal life, it was a different story. There, he was openly both flirtatious and lascivious— he had never kept any kind of longtime and stable partner, but his flirtations usually profited him with sexual partners every so often.
He shuddered now, inwardly, to think of what would happen if he loosened his control over himself. If one day Yumi came to his office during office hours— and if he stood from his seat, to stand over her, as she sat seated in her chair— how intimidated she would feel, having a man six feet and two inches tall looming— and telling her— he was interested— he wasn’t so foolish as to delude himself that there would be any interest on her part— even in the imagined scenario, she would only be disgusted, only be frightened— and there his entire career would go.
All the shudders in the world, and all the reminders— they could not deter his lust. How he craved.
He knew how wrong the obsession was— any time he was becoming a bit too beholden to it, he reminded himself again and again— she was his student— she was his student— he had authority over her, he had power— she would only feel scared, feel pressured, feel uncomfortable— then she would report him—
At least his obsession with Yumi was not the only thing in his life. He was a man of varied hobbies— something of a gourmand, he considered himself— he enjoyed fine dining, enjoyed sampling delicacies— enjoyed gourmet extravagances, and he was paid well enough as a professor with much seniority and job security, that he could justify spending luxurious amounts on food as he preferred.
Not all his hobbies were so highclass— he also enjoyed getting on a bicycle and cycling around— and enjoyed, too, knitting yarn into creations. Thinking of all this was keeping his obsession at least partly at bay.
But if Professor Gordon had spent more time reflecting on the tired, out of place look that Yumi wore, he might have been less surprised, the week later, to find she had dropped out of the college.
For Yumi, attending classes the following week after her visit to the sexshop had been an act of automation. That was just what she did— that was just where she went— so she had slotted into the routine robotically. But she had felt out of place the entire time. Her mind had been washed over in bliss— and all the words she’d heard had been too large for her to really understand.
Her mind only truly carried about sex and pleasure, now— so all the concepts being reviewed and covered in each of her classes meant nothing to her— she had no brainpower to contribute— and so she had been hopelessly lost through all her lectures— and in the face of all her readings and assignments. Her brain simply wasn’t capable of doing it anymore— she was not made for that kind of thinking work, that kind of understanding work— not since she had been remade.
But no one had told her to do or be anything else yet that week— so she had just operated on her old habits.
Luckily, towards the end of that week, Billy had tracked her down to her home— a few forceful words from him, and she had understood— she needed to drop out of college, and come work at the sexshop that had made her what she was. She could even stay there for free— and she wouldn’t have to worry about anything.
It had not been a persuasion. She had only needed to hear the suggestion to accept that it was what she wanted. She didn’t want or desire anymore, not unless she was told that she should do so— she desired only what she was told to desire, and as soon as Billy had said it, she’d wanted it with her whole heart.
So to cap off that week, she had gone in to the registrar’s office, and formally dropped out of college. Left to be the authority over herself, she could barely so much as stand up— but that wasn’t a problem for her, not when a neat set of expectations, of commands, had installed themselves in her. They operated her, as though they played on her system, directed her— they were competent, they made her be competent— while she was wrapped up inside a command and carrying it out, no one would have known how hopeless she was when she was left alone to herself.
After that, there had been a few more practical things to take care of. She’d needed to get rid of all her possessions— to sell them, or give them away— whatever got them out of her home the most quickly. She did sell some of her things in the end— took all payment in cash, and rolled it up into a cash bundle that an elasticband went around. She wouldn’t be taking anything with her— not even clothes— so when she had finally gotten through the task, her home was completely empty— looking move-in ready for the next person. She still carried out the courtesy of cleaning it.
Then she gave her move-out notice; and troubled herself to resolve a few more loose-ends of her life. When that was done, she went back to the shop, and in her first moment there, passed Billy the bundle of cash. She belonged to Billy, and she belonged to Grant— and it didn’t matter to her much what Billy did with the money, if he kept it for himself or shared it with Grant. Those kind of decisions, she was beneath making them— she only had a blind trust that everything Billy did, and everything Grant did, was correct.
So she had felt with her whole being that the money should be turned over— she was a bimbo, what did she need money for? The money she’d had should be in the hands of real, full people— not bimbos like her. As soon as Billy had taken it, she’d forgotten even having had it.
They made a place for her to sleep in the back office, just by putting down a small mat she could curl up on. Then they sent her out with money the next day, and a command— to celebrate her new life and her new job by adorning herself in the way that made sense to her bimbobrain. She had ended up in a hair salon; when she had re-emerged at the end of her appointment, her hair had been a bright shock of blue; she’d stopped off next to have herself lewdly tattooed, and had finally slipped in and bought herself a few scantily-designed outfits. There was an empty drawer in the bottom of the office desk that they fit neatly in, she found out later.
She slipped easily into her new life— as time passed, her hair grew longer, and she let it. Very shortly, she found that six months had gone by since her leaving college, and she hadn’t even noticed them pass— hadn’t realized the passage of time at all, not until that day. Her life didn’t require much thought, it could easily slip past.
But really, today was just another day now. College was a part of her life long forgotten— everything was just about the store. She worked there, she was happy there. She was happy today, she was a bimbo, she was already happy. Billy and Grant had uses for her, sometimes, which were more related to the business of the shop itself, but often they only wanted her for the sexual service she could give them.
At this moment, she was lining items on a shelf— an offhand task Grant had given to her before going to deal with something else. Her mind registered none of what she was doing— her arm was simply always reaching for the next thing to deposit— but her mind didn’t need to register what was going on. She completely surrendered to every action, to every task, and her body could perform accordingly without intercession from her mind.
She was reaching the next item to put on the shelf when she felt a hand close around her upper-arm. She turned, looked, saw it belonged to Billy.
“Supply closet,” Billy said, gruffly. So he required servicing. She knew that Grant liked to have her out in the open in the store, doing menial tasks of the kind he had assigned her today. She knew his explanation for it though she barely understood it— she was a walking advertisement for the bimbobooth— sometimes she had to answer questions for interested parties.
But also because she looked so inherently sexualized— the sight of her could warm the libido of any onlooker, and in a sexshop, this could easily drive them to make a purchase.
So she knew that Grant had asked for to give this kind of service— but the kind of service Billy was asking for was so immediate, so personal— it was impossible for Yumi to resist. She lived for sex, all the holes of her body were for sex— and Billy was telling her he needed to be service by sex— there was never any resistance in her, only something that wanted to slump into compliance— but that something always slumped, as if it were giving in after some long resistant holdout.
Billy was walking fast— but she followed him— he walked over to the supply closet, and opened the door— then his hand was between her shoulder blades, and shoving her hard into the back closetwall— pinning her— Yumi flushed, and felt her pussy lubricate. She could register degradation— she was being shoved around just like she was a thing— not even trusted enough to position herself, not trusted enough to be given instructions— just roughly shoved into place.
She was a thing. She loved being one.
Billy stepped into the closet after her, and pulled the door shut behind him— there was enough room for the two of them to stand— enough room that the back of her body wasn’t even brushing Billy’s front, but Yumi still felt very contained within the room.
With the door closed, Yumi realized Billy was pulling down her toohigh skirt— she never wore underwear beneath it. She had a slutpussy, a bimbopussy, and it needed to be ready for violation at anytime— she heard the zipper of Billy’s pants, and he was shoving her hard into the wall of the closet again— and she felt his engorged cock pressing into the channel of that slutpussy of her— she was clenching around him, and he was shoving in deep— her body just completely relaxed into the experience, there wasn’t anything she could do other than just let it happen.
The pleasure was entering her with every penetration. Billy’s cock was a tool he was using to stuff it into her, stuff it up high inside, pushing it in so it could soak her whole body. And when it soaked her body, it soaked her brain— he fed her pleasure with her cock, fed her through that sluthole of hers, and he was thrusting into her so hard it was almost like he was throwing her body against the wall of the closet every time. She struck it, her entire body slamming up against, hitting hardness— the only thought she could spare for bruises was a faint appreciation that they would make her abjection, her patheticness obvious to anyone who saw her body after this— painted on her skin for customers to see, anyone to see. Apart from this there was no other thought.
Apart from this there was no other thought: just a loop in her head telling her she must, she MUST please Billy, she only wanted to please Billy, she belonged to Billy— she released her voice was saying it, though with some difficulty, for every time a thrust slammed her into the wall, it drove the air from her lungs.
“I must please you, you must be satisfied, I belong to you, all I wish is to please you—” though her words barely had the breathsupport enough for audibility, Billy still seemed to understand her. He answered these please with rougher thrusts, rougher slams. He was making her channel ache and clench— when her orgasms happened, she was not conscious of them— “you must be pleased,” she rasped, the air forced from her by the slamming again.
“Please be pleased,” similarly raspy— her body slammed, each thrust felt so much more forceful, in concert with the hitting of her body against the wall that was in front of her. To her disoriented mind, it felt like her body was being controlled by Billy’s cock— it didn’t matter that part of the slamming was because he was holding her body with his hands, moving all of her as he moved himself. The illusion was created— it was just his cock, when he speared her, he speared her so perfectly and so deeply she had no choice but to be thrown against the wall— that was a powerful cock, all she could do was surrender to it, let it fuck her body wallside, let herself be thrown.
She was still pleading with him, barely hearing the worlds because she still lacked the air to say them— begging, praying that he enjoy what he was doing to her, begging, praying that he be pleased.
He was increasing the speed of his thrusts; she was filled with desperate anticipation— yes, it seemed like he was coming now, like he was about to— let him come, let him come, let him come—! And she might have pleaded that outwardly too.
His thrusts stuttered, and then she felt him roping inside of her. She had not even been thinking of her own pleasure, or her own release— only the pleasure of pleasuring him had been important to her— that was really all the pleasure she needed, and it would hardly matter to her if she never came again, so long as she had that pleasure of being the one doing the pleasure— of knowing her user was getting a satisfying experience.
But when Billy came, rough and long, her body unlocked an orgasm of reinforcement— she felt more chained to being a bimbo even than before, and loved it.
Billy exited the supply closet. Yumi reached down to pull her skirt back, and straightened her sleeveless, stomach-baring lowcut top again. She was dressed scandalously, but her clothes could still be in order— they were more appealing when they looked properly arranged, and as the store bimbo it was most important that she looked as appealing as possible for anyone who wanted look at her.
After all, she didn’t only service Billy and Grant, and didn’t only do Grant’s little tasks— she also did sexual service for any customer who paid for the privilege of having her.
Her clothes adjusted, she closet-exited also.
When she stepped back out into the shop, she saw Grant had come out onto the selling floor. He saw her leaving the closet and for a second she wondered if he might gesture for go right back in, in order to pleasure him— sometimes he liked taking a turn with her when he saw Billy had just done so.
But instead he gave a jerk of his head towards the store’s back section— Yumi, wellprogrammed as she was, immediately understood. She went around a corner, past the back office where she also slept— and moved to the more private section, by going behind the curtain that marked it off.
To one side of the curtained section, there was a booth. This was for her— the booth was made of two parallel wooden slats standing like walls but a little shorter— a bar between them, yet another curtain suspended from it for privacy. The inside of the booth was for her— Yumi was wellfamiliar with the space now. She pulled the curtain aside, stepped inside, then pulled it back, closing herself in.
Then she turned to the booth’s right notwall, and sank down onto her knees. Directly at mouth level, there was a hole in the wood just a little wider than it needed to be.
Yumi licked her lips. Grant could have told her to go back to the task she’d been doing before— even though it hadn’t really mattered that she do it. He could have made her do it just for the sake of keeping busy— but he’d sent her back here with a nonverbal command, so she hoped— her whole heart lifted with the hope of it— maybe someone would come back here now— and give her something to glorify— let her do something that made her be glorified.
She heard the sound of the privacy curtain for the whole space shifting— and then a soft footstep. It felt like there was someone on the otherside of the woodslat, she could almost sense his presence, somehow. If he was here, he would have paid at the front counter, paid the appropriate price and then been waved back— there was the sound of a zipper coming down, and more rustling. And then the most beautiful sight in the world— a cock pressing through the hole that was before her mouth— the hole wide enough that even a man of great girth would not brush the sides of it.
And this man was not a man of great girth. He was middlingly sized, but there was a pleasant curve to the shape of his penis. And being here, kneeling, it gave her permission. The cock’s appearance was a silent declaration— she should suck now, she could be told this, she could understand this without being spoken.
And seeing a cock like this, here for servicing, its owner having paid generously to receive that service— it meant she didn’t have to wait, or restrain herself— sometimes it felt like she was filled with such a desperate desire to please and service everyone around her— she was so attracted to all of them— but she was never allowed to pursue them herself, throw herself after them, make something between them happen first. She always had to wait to be wanted, wait for them to reach for her. And though her heart was forced into a state of happiness about this, with help from her brain, part of her still… wished… sometimes, that she could reach out and give pleasure.
But when she was back here, behind the privacy curtain, that same desire to throw herself, to service, it was foregrounded in her.
And here, there was no necessity to contain it.
As soon as the man’s cock was all the way through the hole, she dove herself forward, putting her face as close to it as she could, and opening her mouth. The man had pressed his pelvis right up to the hole, so when Yumi’s mouth wrapped around his cock, she could just keep moving further up him, until he was going down her throat.
She started up a rhythm, sucking him. She had her hands on either side of her head, slightly above it, pressing firmly into the wood the man was on the other side of. She moved, she sucked, she worked her throat, and when she pulled back she worked her tongue.
This was even more directly like being fed with pleasure— she leveraged with the placement of her hands, pushing off of them to send herself back, make his placement in her mouth shallow— but then she dropped herself forwards, leaning into the wall, leaning into her own hands— she felt even more lost in the pleasure when she did this. Swirling her tongue, swallowing his length, drawing back, taking it in again. It was so literal when it was like this. She threw the weight of her body into the support of her hands— it was like being thrown into the wall by the force of Billy’s cock— or what her mind had understood as the force of Billy’s cock. She thought of that cock again, inside her, feeding her pleasure.
Doing this was more literally feeding her pleasure— it was being administered to her through her mouth— each suck, each swallow, with each one she was drawing more of it inside— making it a presence in her body, filling up on it.
And she was only a bimbo— her body could only contain so much. If it was full of pleasure, other things had to be shoved out of her to make room. In her case, when there was too much pleasure in her, it felt like her brain was the thing that got jettisoned to make the space. Each new swallow of pleasure ended her thoughts— left her just a warm, blank void inside that the pleasure fled.
Her eyes were closed and her body was only sensation— the feel of her tongue working, the feel of her throat working. Even when she had the man all the way down, she still swallowed sometimes, swallowing on nothing just to make him feel the constriction of her throat around his hardness— she rocked up to her hands again, pushed back. It was an internalized dance, she moved without planning too, her body remembered the pattern of movement each time, freshly. She moved up against, felt wood against her palms, knew it was time to push. Felt the cock all the way down her throat— and then felt the head just past her lips.
The man she had in her mouth accepted her suck one last time, and then she was tasting his spunk hot and tangy all down her throat. She was always careful never to spill— she took pride in that.
Then the man’s cock was already deflating inside her mouth, and she thought he must have braced himself off the woodslat like she’d been doing this time, because he pushed off something, and it ripped his penis from her mouth. She would have kept it in there like the suckling whore she was, but he had forcibly removed himself, and now her mouth was empty.
Sometimes, a string of men would come to her one after another, so many and with so little of a gap between each one that it felt like she was constantly sucking— and so many that it forced her mind into extended silence. But no else came when the man left— she stayed kneeling anyway, until her curtain was pulled back, and it was Grant looking down at her.
“Come on back to the front he said—” She must have still looked lost to submission, necessitating he use language to reach her.
She stood and followed.
At the front counter stood a man who was very familiar to her. Her mind produced for her his name, and when she had reached him, with Grant already there beside him since he’d started walking back first, her mouth made her put the name out.
“Professor Gordon,” she said, and smiled her kindest smile. It didn’t bother her that he was here. She didn’t question things like that anymore. He was here so it seemed natural that he was here.
“Professor Gordon has paid us very generously,” Grant was explaining to her. “You belong to him for the night now, and he’s going to take you back with him to his home. He’ll return you in the morning.”
Yumi only smiled her acceptance.
Professor Gordon didn’t seem to feel the need of waiting for anything else to happen. He reached for her, and put his arm through hers— then he was pulling the both of them through the store— down the sidewalk— opening his car, and pushing Yumi into the backseat.
She didn’t question any of it. She was used to being handled this way— and she was sure Professor Gordon could see that too— there must be faint bruises here and there on her skin right now, from when Billy was so rough with her in the supply closet. And their presence would essentially function like an advertisement that yes, she would take any treatment, accept any behavior— she only wanted to be used, and only wanted to satisfy.
Professor Gordon looked at her in his rearview mirror. Then he put his eyes on the road, and turned the key in the ignition.
Yumi’s mind drifted into the thoughtless space again easily with the motion of the car moving around her— she’d given enough pleasure today, and for long enough, that she was quite primed for it. It seemed only that she blinked, and then the car was parked on the street outside a pleasant looking back that was set far back in from the road, behind an impressive gate.
She was manipulated out of the car, and keys opened the gate— then the gate was swinging shut behind them, they were walking, keys opened the door. Then the door was swinging shut behind them, and they were standing in the entrance of the Professor’s house.
He steered her through it, though her eyes barely took it in.
Then they were in the livingroom, and he guided her down to sit on the floor with his hands before sitting in front of her. When he saw the way her skirt rode up, he licked his lips.
She was ready to do anything for him, to be anything for him, but instead he just started talking to her.
“I saw you on the street the other day,” he started. “I haven’t seen you at all since you dropped out of college.”
There was a silence— “you can speak in response to me,” he added. A necessary prompt, Yumi never would have started speaking otherwise.
“It’s helpful that you mentioned where you knew me from,” Yumi said, smiling kindly at him again. He seemed to find that a little strange. “My mind would not have allowed me to remember that part of my life without your reminder.”
He said nothing for a minute, but eventually seemed to find the motivation to resume speaking.
“You were coming out of a hair salon, and your hair was all blue.”
“I don’t leave the shop, really,” Yumi said, feeling her hands rest in her lap. “Not unless they give me money and send me to take care of my appearance. That only happens every few months.”
Professor Gordon nodded. “So I followed you back— and I saw what you were doing there. Saw you go into the closet with that older man— listened at the door— then pulled back the curtain— saw you go into that little booth behind— there was a man waiting there— then what you did next was obvious.
“That guy, Billy. He said I could do this— take you home— so I came back today and paid.”
His brow furrowed. “Is this common? Is this what you do at night?”
Yumi smiled again. “Every night. Almost. There are a lot of store clients who enjoy having use of me. And you paid yourself, you know— it brings good business to the shop, and I belong to the shop, and I only care about doing what’s right for the—”
She was cut off suddenly by the Professor kissing her. This did not startle her— he had revealed himself as having this desire, and now that she knew this about him, she could submit and serve him in this way. She kissed him back, matching his harried impatient movements. When he thrust in with his tongue, she thrust back with hers, curled around his.
He was kissing her down, his body leaning her back until her back hit the floor— he kissed her all the time as she moved.
She put her hands in his hair because she thought he might like that. She was rewarded with a moan proving her right.
He seemed in a rush in general, as if he just couldn’t wait, for some reason. He was rolling her skirt up, rolling her pants down— then he was inside her, breaking the kiss as he rode her like a man unhinged and coming apart with every thrust he sent into her.
“I used to think about this,” he grunted— pounding her hard, making her pussy sore. “I kept it secret, but I had so much lust for you, when you used to be in my classes. I would look at you, picture defiling you in all the ways I can do tonight— but— it never— in my imagination it never felt like this— this feels— this is better than—”
Yumi smiled up at him acceptingly. She leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the mouth. He plunged harder down inside of her.
“Then I’m happy I can provide your fantasy for you,” she told him. He nodded, but didn’t speak. His nod had been rough, and quick— he might already have reached the point where speaking was too much effort in the face of the pleasure that was insider him. When that happened to him, it would not be reinforcing conditioning like it did for Yumi when it happened to her, but still she felt sympathetic to him, for there was something in both their experiences they had in common.
She made herself move with his thrusts more exaggeratedly. When he drew back, she raised her entire body off the floor, following him up, and then when he thrust in, she dropped her body roughly against the floor. She felt the illusion coming back into her mind— even though she was partly responsible for creating it.
It was his cock— it was just his cock— it had the force to lift her off the ground, and then to deposit her back against it. She had bruised on the front of her body before, she must be bruising on the back of it now— she was dropping herself more roughly than she really needed to.
But she didn’t care. This was her life, her life that she loved— serving the shop she loved, the two shop employees she loved, all the clients she loved— she’d love Professor Gordon the same way as she loved all the others, as she had to, as she was programmed too. She was already sure he would be a regular client of hers anymore.
Her bimbo’s heart was just full of joy as she surrendered to the fucking, lifting, dropping, lifting, dropping.
How lucky that she had become a bimbo at all.