Bimbo Juice Bar Ch. 01

A jaded ex-cop is turned into a happy bimbo.

*****

Sam Kwok sat with her arms crossed over the back of her chair, looking out from her balcony at the street below. The night was hot and the people outside seemed to be wearing very little. She sweated gin-smelling sweat into the armpits of her button-up shirt and scratched miserably at the nicotine patch on her forearm. Down across the street the owner of the news kiosk sat as she did, backwards in his chair, except he smoked profusely and gave pleasant greetings to the people who passed by. She spat out on the pavement two floors below her, not caring if it hit someone.

Quitting was hell.

She sighed and sucked the last few drops of gin from the bottle. She was just wondering if she could pitch it far enough to wipe the broad grin off the newsagent's face when her phone rang. It was Husky. He was into corporate security contracts now, but they had shared a beat once.

'Hey, Sam. I've got a job for you.' He went straight into it; his office sounded like bedlam in the background, with phones ringing and assistants shouting orders.

'I'm already working a case,' she lied. If he was desperate then she knew she could double her rates. Maybe this month she'd drink real gin instead of the bathtub stuff.

'Let me guess, the mystery of the missing gin? I've got a good idea who's behind that one.'

'What do you want, Husky?' Sam replied bitterly. She tossed the empty gin bottle across the room. It bounced off the edge of a ratty easy chair and rolled away into the darkness of her shitbox apartment.

'Two hours ago TT Post lost a package.'

'So? Fuckers lose my packages all the time. I never did see that dildo. They 'lost it' four times...'

'Right. Well it was stolen. The package, I mean. It was a proper same-day special delivery, two man and van, except one of the couriers is on his first day, leaves the van unattended and then when he gets back the package is gone.'

'Uh huh. Inside job?'

'Maybe. TT Post have their people covering that angle.'

'What's my angle? Why don't they just recompense the sender? What was the package, Husky?

'Well that's the kicker, ain't it? They were shipping a crate of Bimbo Juice. The real deal. Not officially, of course, they didn't quote unquote know what they were transporting, but they knew, and the sender knows they know. They'd write the whole thing off, sure, and pay off both sides and keep well away from mentioning the whole affair to the police, except...'

'Except it was a special delivery and their fucking company logo is all over the goods.'

'Bingo bongo. I mean, hardly the worst scandal, you know, but with the competition turning the screw, it could cost them in the long run. So, time's a factor here, Sam. My people are on it, but I figured if anyone knows the dive bars in Bayview where some red hot Bimbo Juice might be passing hands...'

'Yeah, fuck you too, Husky.' She felt hard inside.

'Cheers, Sam. Call me if you get a lead.'

The connection rang off. Sam pocketed her phone and idly scratched her patch. The newsagent noticed her for the first time and waved, his cigarette trailing smoke from his hand. She scowled. He didn't seem to notice and kept up his big grin. It was like the fucker expected her to cave any minute and buy a pack of smokes from his kiosk. She shook her head, trying to get in the game.

It wasn't like she hoped to find anything, that crate would have been broken up and sold on, or stashed for the long game, but at least she could bill Husky for a day's work, maybe two if she pretended to follow up cold leads in the cool morning.

She bit her ragged nails as she considered the problem. Bimbo Juice was billed as a hard drug, more for its side-effects than any addictive quality. It was too rare to get hooked on, and they said one can of Bimbo Juice was enough. That's all it took to turn a typical human into a pornified bimbo slut. The effects sometimes wore off and sometimes they didn't. Sam vaguely remembered hearing there were different flavours with different outcomes.

The authorities didn't know where it was coming from, either. It was practically magic - a high-science blend of biochemistry and, supposedly, nanotech. How else could someone grow a huge pair of tits in under an hour from only a mouthful of the Juice? How else could nanobot-infused sweat seep out of pores to reshape clothing?

The newsagent greeted a small group of men on their way to a bar. He took money, gave out cigarettes and a joke. The lads laughed. They were in jeans, smart shoes, and freshly ironed short-sleeve shirts. Farther down, a couple of girls tottered on impossibly high heels, their strappy dresses revealing more than they hid.

Sam bit her nails again. She needed to blend in somehow. She sighed, went to look for a change of clothes, and nearly fell over the discarded gin bottle.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

This was the place. Sam knew it the moment she entered Malloy's Bar. It hadn't even made it on her list to check out until a tip came through. It sounded Irish, but it turned out to be a hipster joint, the sort of place where the owner had paid good money to clad the walls with broken pallet wood. One-hundred dollar lightbulbs suspended from the ceiling in birdcages gave a weak, ethereal glow. In spite of the poor lighting, Sam could see a lot of flesh on display tonight.

She was no prude, and she had been trawling bars for the best part of the night, so she had admired more than her fair share of tanned skin, tight bicep, thick lips and flat stomachs. But here. Here it was sex turned up to 11, or maybe higher. She reckoned 69.

Short girls in high heels were spilling out of what passed for clothing. Sam shook her head. Napkins would have provided more coverage. One statuesque girl looked as if she were wearing a belt for a top and a belt for a skirt; both were pulled tight, with more than a hint of nipple peeking over the top of the top-belt, and pretty much everything on display beneath the bottom-belt.

Sam inhaled. The air was hot and thick with perfume, hormones and something else. It had hit her the moment she entered. She tried to shrug it off but it lingered. Sam waded to the bar through the lush atmosphere, feeling conspicuously overdressed in her one clean shirt, jeans, fake-leather jacket and heavy boots. She wasn't the only woman wearing boots, but unlike the calf-hugging leather spike boots on display elsewhere, hers were just scuffed safety boots.

The bar was busy but she found a space. For some reason the barman came to her first, a wry smile on his face.

'A bit grey out tonight,' he said.

'What?'

'Have you read Fifty Shades of Grey?' he ignored her query.

'No, I...' it suddenly clicked. For a rare moment, Sam self-consciously brushed back her hair, tucking away the handful of grey strands that had crept in to the otherwise dark brown bob cut. In her peripheral vision she saw girls half her age leaning over the bar, their tight, full breasts spilling out in an attempt to catch the barman's eye. A part of her wanted to run out, get away, go to the sort of dive bar she was used to, where the men and women looked like chewed old leather, smoked and drank bourbon by the pint, got into fights and staggered home alone, another day closer to death.

This place was beyond her ken. It was lively and vibrant and buzzed with a powerful energy she hadn't encountered before. But then that hard thing inside her returned.

'Fuck you,' she snarled.

The barman grinned. He seemed to be the head barman. He stood with his burly arms folded casually, intentionally ignoring the raving howls for more booze while his bar crew frantically worked to fulfil orders. 'You're okay, Momma. Don't let these jailbirds put you off. You sit right there and some guy with a MILF complex is gonna hit on you anytime soon.'

Sam wanted to reach across and rip his throat out. Instead she swallowed her pride, took the punch and rolled with it. This was the place. She could have called in the lead to Husky and let his team swoop on the place, but she was in the zone now. She was working. It was her case.

'The only guy here hitting on me is you. You want to pretend Mommy loves you and actually gives a crap about how your sad life turned out while she sucks your tiny dick?'

The barman laughed. He was in his twenties. Almost half her age, but... he had a certain experience, Sam could tell. He'd probably been working behind a bar for almost a decade. That showed you a lot about humanity, usually the worst side. People turned into animals once the booze was flowing. 'You're okay, Momma. What can I get you?'

'Gin on the rocks with lots of lime juice. And maybe some info on who's dealing the Bimbo Juice?' she did a magic trick with her fingers and gave him a glimpse of a rolled up twenty note.

The barman said nothing, his wry grin fading into bored professionalism as he quickly poured a double gin - good gin - into a tumbler, tossed in several ice cubes and capped it off with lime juice. He put down a napkin, set the glass on it and pushed the drink toward her. He ignored the money. 'Does this look like the sort of place that'd sell Bimbo Juice?'

'You tell me.'

He gave her a good looking over. Sam felt overdressed again. She shrugged off her PVC leather jacket and hung it a hook on her side of the bar. There was no way she could compete in terms of looks with the girls either side of her, but if the barman had information, and if the barman took a liking to her, then she would play with what she had. She had been the young girl flashing her tits at barmen once.

They existed in their own bubble of silence. She knocked back her drink and sucked her thin lips appreciatively. That was good gin. He nodded, acknowledging her enjoyment.

'Who are you?'

'The name's Sam. I'm a freelance investigator. Not here to make arrests or shut anyone down. I just want to know who's got the Juice. My client will pay for tips that lead to the recovery,' she pushed the note toward him and he ignored it again.

'Hey, man. I wanna drink!' the girl next to Sam yelled at the barman.

He turned his head and gave her a hard stare. 'Shut the fuck up you little slut or I'll have the bouncer chuck you out for using fake ID.' He ignored her outrage and looked back to Sam. 'Duty calls, Momma. If I hear anything I'll let you know. Now you just sit right and tight and wait for your toy boy to show up.'

With quick motions he reclaimed her tumbler, tossed it away, made a fresh cocktail in a martini glass and laid it out in front of her. And then he was gone, lost behind the scrum of bodies behind the bar, serving an effeminate male hipster to Sam's left.

'Geez, like what are you looking at, lady?' the girl snapped. Sam realised she had been staring. It was the hair. The girl had a sleek, mirror-like cascade of platinum blonde hair that flowed down her shoulders and to her bum. It fell short just where her buttocks started to round out in an impressive bubble-curve. Sam imagined it would have been pretty exciting to grip the little slut hard by the hair and tug on it while fucking her from behind. She blinked, shook her head and wondered where that though had come from. The air so was so damn thick and hot.

'Your hair is lovely,' Sam said, turning saccharine sweet. 'Where did you get it done?'

The girl blinked as if the question confused her. She ran a hand through her hair. It smelled of strawberries and cream. 'Dunno. It just grew.'

'When, tonight?'

It was like sending a telegraph message across the Atlantic. Sam waited for the reply to be processed and sent back. Eyes heavy with finely crafted shadow blinked slowly. 'I guess. Hey, you made me lose my chance, the barman just served that girl instead...'

'Where did you get the Bimbo Juice?' Sam asked.

'What? Go away, crazy lady, I dunno what you're on about. Oh fuck this, I'm going somewhere where they serve drinks.' The girl turned and stormed off as fast as she could totter away in high heels.

Sam sipped her cocktail. She had no idea what it was. It tasted like gin and lime but with a lurid swirl of pink laced through it. The pinkness was sweet but pleasant enough, and the price was right. The barman definitely liked her, and he definitely knew something.

She sipped her drink. It was really good but maybe drinking while on a case was a bad idea. Sam couldn't remember the last time she ate a solid meal, and on top of the gin she had polished off in her apartment, the drink was making her light headed. Hard to focus.

The denim of her black jeans felt hot and itchy. She idly scratched her thighs with her smooth fingernails. Around her, the bar room was full of mostly younger people, chatting and laughing in small groups, but in far corners and underneath tables Sam was aware of more salacious activity. A girl, face screwed in ecstasy, her bottom lip bit, head tilted back, as a guy made circling motions with his hand, a hand lost up her skirt. No, not lost. Exactly where it needed to be.

Sam blew out air. It was hot in the bar. So many bodies. She tugged at her shirt. It didn't fit right. Her fingernails trailed across her exposed belly but she couldn't see past her own tits.

Tits.

Sam didn't have tits. She sat upright, threw back her shoulders, threw out her chest to get a better look.

'Yes, miss?' a barman asked, his eye caught by the display. It wasn't her barman though, so she shook her head. Hair swished loosely back and forth across her shoulder blades. She tied it back again. What had she been doing before the interruption?

She finished her drink and chewed on an ice cube. A slender finger played with a lock of glossy light brown hair, curling and uncurling it while she tried to think. The ice cube was having a strange effect on her lips. They were going numb and puffy. She ran a tongue over them. Maybe an allergic reaction to an ingredient in the cocktail?

'Hey, buy you a drink?' a man eased his way up to the bar and smiled at Sam. He was a little short for Sam's tastes, but good looking. Nice smile.

'The lady is covered, fella,' her barman said, suddenly appearing from the scrum. He swished away her empty glass and replaced it with a fresh drink. Sam enjoyed watching the barman work. His strong hands moved with efficient precision. Meanwhile, the two men stared daggers at each other. The short guy made a dismissive motion, asked for a beer and walked off when he got it.

'You scared off my toy boy,' she pouted.

He grinned. 'That wasn't your toy boy. That was literally a toy-sized boy. How do you like your drink?'

'S'good. What is it?'

'It's a Pink Lady, but our house version with a secret ingredient.'

'Cool,' she replied. Cool? That wasn't right. There was something about 'secret ingredient' that was setting off alarm bells. Something she had come to look for. She opened her mouth to speak and her tongue tripped over her lips. They were so thick.

Her barman gave her a wry smile and walked off to serve someone else. Sam adjusted the hem of her knee-length denim skirt. Long nails brushed against her skin as she tugged at the fabric. She looked at her hand, suddenly struck dumb by the sight of her nails.

'Oh. My. God. They match the drink!' she smiled and held out her long fingernails against the glass. The colours matched, pink on pink. So cool that she had somehow co-ordinated her make-up with her drinks tonight, or maybe it was the barman's idea. He looked clever.

Her phone rang. She took it out and looked at the caller ID. It was Husky. 'Hey, stud,' she answered. She curled and uncurled her long blonde hair around the knuckle of a finger. No greys. So cool.

''Stud'? Are you drunk? How's it going?'

'I'm not drunk. Sheesh, I'm, like, blending in. This place is full of horny young men and women.'

'Right, well good luck with 'blending in', Sam. Have you got any leads?'

'Leads?'

'On the Bimbo Juice. Don't get tanked now, Sam. Save it for tomorrow.'

Distant thoughts of the case struggled to swim against the new direction her mind was flowing in. The case of the stolen Bimbo Juice. A stolen case of cans. This was the place. She needed proof, and then she would claim the full reward. 'I'm close,' she answered. 'I'll call you soon.'

She hung up. The room was so damn hot. It was a good thing she had decided to come out in her mini-skirt and crop top. It was definitely helping her to blend in. It was just a shame she didn't go out more often, otherwise she would have known her clothes didn't fit her anymore. The crop top was digging into her skin where her breasts were straining to break free, and her skirt kept riding up over her bum.

She peeled off the old nicotine patch. Maybe she'd cadge a cigarette off someone. Smokers knew all the gossip. She might even cool off if she found an outdoor smoking area.

Sammy finished her drink and stepped off her bar stool. She took a tumble as her heel slipped on the floor. A guy caught her by the arm. 'Easy, kid,' he smiled easily and accidentally cupped her butt as he helped her up. It sent tingles through her body. She bit her lip, thinking of other places that hand could go. She must have been staring at him for too long. He gave her a concerned look. 'You okay? Need some water?'

'No, it's cool. I'm just not used to...' she looked down, expecting to see her boots. Instead she saw a pair of black peep-toe high heels. That wasn't right. Where were her boots?

'Nice shoes. I like your toenails,' the man complimented her.

'Thanks! They match my fingernails see,' she grinned and held up her fingernails. She figured she was a little tipsy as she managed to knock her own breasts with her hand as she brought it up. They jiggled, almost breaking free from the crop top. They seemed to jut out more than she remembered.

'Why don't you join us?' he nodded to his group of friends.

'No, I need to go smoke. Where's the smoke area?'

'It's that way,' he pointed to a doorway at the back of the bar room. 'See us after, alright, kitten?'

She giggled. She liked being called kitten. It made her think of sex kitten. She turned and walked, slowly, to the doorway. There was no other way she could walk. Her heels clicked on the floor as she sashayed one foot in front of the other, buttocks rolling and swaying with hypnotic rhythm for all the guys, and a few girls, to drool over.

On the way she passed the toilets. She decided to pop in to make sure her hair and make-up was perfect. It had been ages since she last touched up her lipstick.

The bathroom was busy; she wasn't the only girl with the notion of preening herself. All of the girls seemed oblivious to the very obvious sound of sex coming from one of the stalls. Sammy's pussy clenched. It sounded like the slut in the booth was having a real good time. She bit her lip and shook off the urge to knock on the door and ask to join them.

Instead she elbowed a way past the bimbos crowding the mirror. When one tried to argue she gave her best cop glare and silenced her. Sammy blinked, wondering how she knew a cop glare. That, like, scared people off. Sammy needed to work on her come hither look. She turned to the mirror and imagined what that might like look like.

She pursed and pouted her thick, candyfloss-pink lips at the mirror. They matched her nails. She trailed a long, pink nail against her bottom lip, practicing her wide-eyed innocent look. Blue eyes framed by thick lashes looked back at her, skipping the come hither look, bypassing bedroom eyes, and going straight to fuck me. They practically invited Sammy to make out with herself. Instead, Sammy turned them on the tall brunette next to her. She smiled and batted her eyelashes. The tall brunette stared back, her breath caught short as she fell under Sammy's spell.