's Candy

Part 7: Saturday Night

I looked in the box, or started to, I should say, when Katherine stopped me.

"Strip first, Candy."

I blushed a little and said "yes, Miss." It's not like she hadn't already seen me naked, it was just . . . well, stripping in the living room wasn't something I'd normally do in front of anyone.

I slipped the sneakers off, wiggled out of the skirt and peeled off the top, eyes trying to look at her for permission to open the box without really looking at her. I could feel the blush all over.

I could feel Katherine's eyes on me, roaming over my body. "Mmmm you

do

have a wonderful body, Candy." Open the box and get dressed now."

I bit my lip, beet-red, moved the tissue paper away, and looked in the box.

I sort of half-gasped, I think. I'm not what I was expecting, but it wasn't the very short black silk robe and black thigh-high stockings that were in there. I heard Katherine's laugh . . . "catching flies, Candy?"

I realized my mouth was frozen open and closed it, gulping. "Errrmm.. .no, Miss."

"Get dressed."

I pulled the robe out and slipped into it, tying the sash around my waist. I looked down and gasped all over again. "Short" was an understatement. I sat down on the arm of a chair as gingerly as I could to put on the stockings, feeling the robe exposing me a bit. Instinctively I pulled my legs closer together.

Katherine chuckled. "You'll get used to it, Candy, don't worry."

I gulped again. "Get used to it?" That didn't sound good.

I picked up the stockings and carefully put them on. They

did

feel nice on my skin, and the feeling of the silk robe was wonderful, but I couldn't really concentrate on anything other than my complete embarrassment.

I got the stockings on and stood up, looking down. I felt Katherine's eyes moving over me again.

"Mmm very nice. One more thing. Get the shoe box out of the black bag there."

I went over to the bag and awkwardly leaned down, trying to get the box out with completely exposing myself. I heard Katherine giggle. "There's

lots

to get used to, Candy."

I got the box out and stood. I lifted the lid off and looked in side to see a pair of black patent-leather open-toed sling backs, with heels at least 5" high, maybe 6". I was efficient at being in heels, but, yikes . . .

But this was obviously what I was going to be wearing tonight. I set the heels down on the floor and slipped my feet into them, immediately feeling the angle of my body change, the tightness in my calves, the way my chest was involuntarily forced forward a bit.

"Come stand in front of me, Candy,"

I walked over to her, a tiny bit wobbly as I tried to adjust to the fearsome heels. Katherine looked me up and down again.

"Nice. Just a few adjustments."

She undid the sash, and I whimpered softly as the robe fell open. She smiled and adjusted the robe a bit, creating a deeper V at the neckline, then re-tied the sash. "Turn around."

I turned, and she adjusted the seams of the stockings. "Perfect now."

I turned back to face her and she nodded towards the floor, subtly. I caught her eyes and slipped carefully down to my knees, thinking idly that kneeling wasn't necessarily the worst option right at this moment. I looked down and blushed again, seeing how the bottom of the short robe didn't even reach the stocking-tops.

Katherine lifted my chin. Her gaze froze me a second.

"I like you like this, Candy. Totally accessible, everything about you . . . offering yourself. But at the same time . . . the hint of mystery."

She laughed. "OK, a very small hint of mystery, I grant you."

I laughed nervously.

"It will take a little time for you to feel comfy like this, I know."

I stammered a bit. "Yes, Miss . . . I . . . feel like . . . a slut, dressed like this, and I'm, well . . . not a slut."

She laughed and brushed her finger across my lips. "Well, a week ago you weren't a lesbian, either."

Her laugh made me shiver, but I could hardly argue with her logic.

Katherine settled back on the couch and nudged my legs wider apart with her foot. I spread a bit wider, and had the feeling that a deep blush was going to be my normal coloring for a while.

"I'm so hungry. I wish that pizza would get here."

My eyes grew wide . . . I had forgotten about the fact that pizza was coming. My mind started to reel a bit, when the doorbell rang.

"Oooooooo goody. There it is." Katherine handed me a few dollars. "Go get the pizza and give the guy his tip, Candy."

I swallowed hard as I rose to my feet. It was one thing to be dressed like this in the private company of someone you've been intimate with, but to answer the door like this? My heart was racing.

I think I wobbled and wiggled in the heels more than I otherwise would have. I was flushing, face on fire. I stopped at the door and reached for the knob, dying inside, hearing Katherine's voice behind me . . . "mmmmmmmm nice wiggle."

I took a deep breath and opened the door. The young man delivering the pizza started to say "pizza" and then gasped, wide-eyed.

I had to look down. The guy didn't even pretend to not ogle me . . . looking me over a long moment, before finally stammering . . . "uhh . . . nhhh . . . pizza. . . . "

I thought I would die on the spot from sheer humiliation. He handed me the pizzas, which I had to set down, so I could get the soda bottles from him. The whole time, which was maybe 20 seconds, felt like ten minutes, and I could see/feel him staring, taking in every inch of me. I shuddered, seeing his jeans starting to bulge. I gave him his tip, whimpered out a "thank you" and closed the door.

I leaned against the door, chest heaving. I finally lifted my eyes and saw Katherine sitting there, smiling a very satisfied smile at me across the room.

She could barely contain her glee. "You made his night, Candy. Probably his whole year." She giggled. "Now, get that stuff over here . . . I'm starving."

I nodded and got the soda and the pizzas and carried them to the table. My walk felt a bit more confident now in the killer heels . . . Katherine watched my every move with obvious appreciation.

I had to go back to the kitchen for plates and whatnot. As I walked, I felt an odd ripple of something very much like pleasure, as I felt the way the heels forced me to wiggle as I moved, just a little.

I knelt down again but she told me to sit.

"Get comfy, Candy . . . enjoy your pizza."

I smiled and served her a slice and poured her soda. We idly chatted and semi-watched

Project Runway

as we ate.

I was hungrier than I'd realized. I wasn't used to expending quite so much energy on a Saturday, or having quite this much "stress." After a while the eating died down and the conversation picked up.

Katherine had me tell her everything about various aspects of my life. She asked me a million questions about my job . . . how long I'd been there, what I did, in detail, how I liked it, how I felt about my co-workers, bosses, etc. I didn't really like talking about it at first but as the conversation went on I began to get more at ease, and actually felt good letting someone else know the "whole" story, as it were. There were people I might've told some of it to, but no one person I'd told everything. It did feel good to share it, and Katherine was a natural interviewer (interrogator?); it was easy to talk to her, and her questions didn't feel like an invasion, the way someone else's might have.

Finances weren't excluded, either. How much I made, what I owned, what I had in the bank. Credit cards, car payments, personal outlook on money, spending habits, etc.

After work and money were completely finished, Katherine turned the topic to sex. She wanted to know my complete romantic/sexual history, starting with my first crush in junior high. This topic was a little more difficult to talk about, not because it was particularly traumatic or extensive, but simply because I was so unused to talking about it so openly and in so much detail. Plus, talking about while dressed in a slutty little robe, stockings, and fuck-me heels, was to say the least a novel experience.

Katherine urged me on gently from time to time, reminding me that this was totally within the bounds of our agreement and that she knew I wanted to be "good" and comply with the agreement to the best of my ability.

I let myself let go of thoughts of wishing I hadn't "agreed" and just . . . talked. About every guy, every incident, everything I could remember. Katherine's questions and her way of asking them, pulled it out of me – every fantasy, how often I masturbate, how I masturbate, what things I'd done, what things I thought about doing, what I "wouldn't" do, everything. Every name, practically every date. How each relationship ended, who ended it, how, and why.

We talked for hours. Or, I should say, I talked and she listened. She had a way of listening that let the other person know she was listening with her entire self, and remembering every detail. It was both comforting and disturbing, in equal measure.

Finally we seemed to be at the end of "Candy's Life Story." She looked down at me as sat there on the floor, and her expression softened a bit from the intent listener/questioner.

"Back up on your knees, Candy." She tossed a pillow on the floor and I knelt on it.

Her eyes swept over me and I felt that now-familiar tingling shiver. "You want to know why I dressed you like this tonight."

I stumbled for an answer, then finally just said "Yes, Miss."

She settled back on the couch. "Well, several reasons."

I listened as she listed them off with an academic precision and authoritative tone that gave me goosebumps.

"1. It's how I wanted you dressed. That, in and of itself, is all that matters and all you need to know or care about. But there's more I'll share with you tonight.

2. I listened carefully as you talked. It confirmed what I already knew, and felt, about you. Which is this:

3. You are, at heart, Candy, a slut. You've never allowed yourself to be that, to accept and feel it, because you've been taught all your life that it's wrong. But you are a slut . . . slut.

4. You needed to do something in obedience to me that wasn't quite so easy. Washing the cars, running a few errands and kneeling now and then were a little too easy. I wanted you to have to do something that would really press on you, to make you understand that my authority over you is essentially unlimited. And, to get you to realize, to feel . . . "

She paused a moment, as if to let my mind stop reeling from the "slut" comments.

She smiled. "That you

like it.

"

I opened my mouth to protest that no, I most definitely didn't like it, not one bit. That I was massively uncomfortable, felt exposed and unnecessarily, frighteningly vulnerable, embarrassed and humiliated beyond belief, and . . .

My mind wouldn't continue that train of thought, my mouth wouldn't give voice to those words. Because deep inside me, in a way that I didn't understand and didn't really appreciate, I had to admit that along with all those other feelings, I felt . . . sexy, desired, and strangely fulfilled, kneeling before her, dressed like this. I might in fact

be

a slut after all. Katherine in the short time I'd known her hadn't been wrong about a single thing.

I looked up at her and the only thing that came out of my mouth was "yes, Miss."

The look in her eyes told me that she knew, that she had known, and that my response was the only one she would hear; the only one possible. She undid the sash of her long robe and opened her legs. Her graceful fingers reached out and threaded through my hair. She pulled me to her, effortlessly, so naturally and easily. Something in me jumped, flew to her. My face was buried in her sex, and the same crackling shivers I got from the scent of her before raced through me again.

As before, she silently let me know that it was all about her, and her pleasure. She gently but firmly moved me around as I pleasured her, directing me, showing me exactly how to please her best. I was swimming in the feeling of doing that, feeling each instruction she conveyed to me, with her movements and her sounds, burn itself into my mind.

I could feel that she knew exactly what I was feeling, although I don't know how. As the slow luxurious worship turned to rattling sharp passion, and finally explosive release, I felt her pressing every moment, every sensation of how it felt to serve her this way, deeply into me, and felt her dragging me down into that soft blackness, where she held me and kept me. I knew what she wanted given, and I needed to give it to her. She knew what I needed taken and she wanted to take it.

Her release finally subsided, and her grip in my hair eased, turned to a soft stroking of gentle fingers. I moaned softly, and lay my head on her thigh.

Her words tumbled down to me as I knelt and rested there, nestling in my quickly shutting-down mind.

"Mmmmmmmm . . . good slut. So good."

I kissed her thigh. My eyes closed and the words slipped past my lips in a whisper as sleep overtook me.

"Thank you, Miss."