Candy And Pam Pt 01

Everything described in this story takes place between consenting adults. It is all true, except for the parts that were fictionalized for the ... well, you know.

This represents the first part of the 'Candy and Pam' series.

*****

Volunteering can be an extremely good thing to do when you have the opportunity. One of the advantages of being a successful author is that my schedule allows for me to give back to the community. That led me to start volunteering for a local youth organization a few years ago. I only go in one day a week, when I can, to teach a creative writing course that is usually filled with aspiring writers who have dreams of following in my footsteps. They write short stories or poems for me, or anything else they want to share, and I provide constructive critiques to help them develop their skills. We also discuss the tools every writer needs. All in all, it's a fun way to spend a Friday afternoon, and a good way to unwind before the weekend.

My class was slated to begin at 3pm, and, as was my habit, I arrived about thirty minutes early to give me time to grab a coffee from the volunteer-run coffee shop and say hello to the Volunteer Coordinator, a lovely young woman I'd grown rather fond over the last few years. Candace Nichols would have been the leading lady in many of my wet dreams, if I hadn't actively fantasized about her incredible body before going to sleep. That isn't to say that images of her tantalizing flesh hadn't filled my dreams, just that by the time sleep had overtaken me my ability to 'rise to the occasion' had, as it were, passed.

Suffice it to say, the woman was more than a sight for sore eyes. She was a balm, an aphrodisiac, she was the embodiment of the ultimate love potion, and—to tell you the truth—I'm quite certain she was practically oblivious of the effects she had on any man lucky enough to be around her for more than a few seconds at a time.

In truth, the person I envied the most was Pamela Cross. Pam, as she asked everyone to call her, was the secretary for the volunteer office. To call her a mere secretary would be doing Pam a disservice: she also happened to be Candace's Administrative Assistant, and the woman who sat just outside of Candace's office. She worked closely with Candace and saw her every single day. I was jealous of Pam for the simple reason that she had the one thing that I lacked: she had access to Candace. This was not to say that I suspected that the two of them were involved in some sort of relationship (though that idea had, of course, flitted through more than a few of my more intense fantasies), it was just that Pam was able to see the lovely Candace every day while I only saw her once a week.

Pam seemed to be the opposite of Candace physically, though one would be mad, or blind, to call her overweight. While Candace was thin, with an athletic, toned body, Pam was what could best be described as Rubenesque. Her body was perfectly proportioned to her height, that being about 5'5", with large, bulbous breasts that begged to be admired, though she usually wore sweaters over her blouses that made such admiration difficult, if not impossible. She had generous hips and had buttocks that made you want to bury yourself in their gloriousness. Candace, on the other hand, preferred to wear light dresses that accentuated her sweet figure. Her smaller breasts seemed to defy gravity, and her legs, even though she was the same height as Pam, appeared to be longer, making their way up to the hidden treasures that could only be imagined.

Where Pam had jet-black hair and bright blues eyes, eyes that could see through you when she smiled. Candace had brunette hair with soft blonde highlights and brown eyes that could melt any heart. As a writer, looking at these two beautiful women was enough to get my creative juices flowing, but talking to them was even better.

When I arrived at the volunteer office I already knew that Pam wouldn't be at her desk, but Candace's office door was open. I stuck my head in and said, "Hello, how are you today?"

Candace looked up from her computer, "Oh, John," she exclaimed, choking back a tear, "you surprised me," she seemed extremely upset, which was unusual for the seemingly unflappable younger woman. I'd never seen Candace anything other than upbeat and professional, so I could tell that something was obviously wrong.

Of course, I knew, but the game was now officially afoot.

Stepping into her office, "What's wrong?" I asked.

She looked at me for several long seconds, seemingly debating how much she wanted to tell me, "I ..." she hesitated, "it's just ..." she shook her head, her shoulder-length hair spilling over her shoulders. "I'm desperate," she finally blurted out, blushing instantly.

I nodded, not wanting to pounce at the obvious double entendre that she has left lying out there for me. I'm a better man than that. "I'm not sure I understand," I offer, telling what isn't quite an innocent lie.

She looked down at her hands for a second, considering her words, appreciating my display of gallantry. "Well, it all began with Pam," she nodded toward the outer office. "Her mother died," she said softly.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." It's the truth, of course, but it isn't the entire story.

"That's not the half of it," she continued. "She flew home for the funeral. She'll be off for a few days, which is fine, but ..." she sighed, her chest heaving, causing my eyes to settle on the sight of her breasts as they moved against the soft material of her dress. I wonder if she's wearing a bra and see, for the first time, that if she is it is either tremendously thin, perhaps even transparent, not doing a great job at concealing her nipples, or it is only supporting her from below.

I blink, trying to focus on what she's saying. "Then the board called a surprise meeting," she was continuing, "and that's where my real problems began." None of this is news to me, but I'm trying to look as though it is something I've never heard before.

"How so?" I tried to look concerned, but was certain that my face might be betraying another emotion and struggled to bring it under control. The last thing I needed was to show this amazing woman that what was really on my mind was the thought of those perky breasts beneath her dress.

"Well," she took a deep breath, "I have to produce a report for the meeting ..." her eyes met mine and I felt a tingling at the base of my spine. "You see, everything needed for the reports was compiled by Pam—she was going to write the report—I was going to review it and submit it, but the meeting was moved up by two weeks."

Pam's responsibilities as Candace's Administrative Assistant went beyond answering the phone in the outer office, it meant she did whatever had to be done to keep the volunteers running smoothly. Candace did more than her share, of course, but Pam was like her right-hand, and she was desperate with her gone. I knew this because Pam had told me. Pam had told me everything.

Candace was desperate, but there was more.

"So, you need some help?" I asked, smiling.

She frowned, "No," she shook her head, looking back at her computer, "What I need ..." she hesitated, looking down again, "what I need is a writer."

As she said the final words her body seemed to jerk, she looked directly at me, a sudden realization coming over her as she saw me with fresh eyes. "Oh ... my ..." she left the thought hanging as she stood up from behind her desk, walking around it to stand in front of me.

"Are you sure there's nothing I might be able to do to help you?" I grinned as she stepped up to me.

"You might be able to save my ass," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

I looked at her with my head cocked to the left, nodding, "Well, that certainly has an interesting ring to it," I said, allowing myself to smile lasciviously. I know that Candace has, on many occasions, overhead the jokes that Pam and I have exchanged, many of which have been of a rather risqué nature, so she knows that I have a rather wicked sense of humor. If it has bothered her, nothing was ever said about it, and Pam usually initiated our exchanges. We even corresponded by email, which was how I'd discovered that the young secretary had an incredibly wild side, as well as a desire to become a kept woman.

The only thing that had been preventing her from taking the next step had been her family and what they might think of her moving in with an older man.

I will add, for the record, that I am not that much older than either of these lovely ladies. Candace is barely in her early thirties, and Pam is only three years younger, and they could both pass themselves off as being in their twenties. As for the 'older man' part of things, I am in my mid-forties, but have kept myself in fighting form, and don't look a day over thirty. As they say, clean living and lots of hard sex will do a body good. That is a saying, right? Well, it should be.

Pam had sent me a text message as soon as she had heard the news about her mother. She had also sent the message about the board meeting when Candace had been informed about it, desperate about the report that had to be written on such short notice. Pam had known that I'd be able to save the day—that I'd be able to save her ass—and would, and Pam was only too happy to open the opportunity for me, as a gift. It was the ultimate gift from my new servant.

I took another look at Candace's ass, "It certainly seems worth saving," I said, trying to sound serious.

She blushed, "Uh ..."

"I mean, not having seen the entire package," I whispered, as though considering the situation, "I'm only assuming," I smiled, "but, I'll just have to go with my instincts," I laughed gently, she blushed again, but made no indication that she was uncomfortable or wanted to step away.

"I can't tell if you're serious or you're teasing me," she sounds like she wants to scold me, but she takes a step forward and my arm encircles her waist, pulling her closer. There is no resistance as her body presses against mine.

"Am I joking?"

"No," she exhales, my hand sliding down her back, stopping just above the luscious curve of her ass.

"I'm not." I kiss her neck, a soft, delicate kiss, pregnant with the promise of much more which makes her suck in her breath. Then I whisper, "What do you need me to do?" as I release her, reluctantly stepping back a foot.

She looks slightly frustrated as our quick embrace is broken, but the report is still foremost on her mind. After explaining what needs to be done I look at my watch and estimate that it will take about three or four hours of work to complete the task.

"Is that all?" she sounds genuinely surprised.

"Remember, my dear, you're talking to a professional," I chuckle.

"I don't know how to thank you," she says, almost under her breath, then, almost as an afterthought, moves close again and presses herself close. "I somehow have a suspicion I won't have to think about such things, do I?"

Looking at her for a second I decide the truth is my friend, "What makes you say such a thing, Candace?"

"Candy," she whispers.

"Excuse me?"

"My friends ... my special friends, call me Candy."

This woman really is full of surprises, I think to myself. "Well, Candy, truth be told, I suppose I would have some ideas as to how you might be able to thank me ..."

She nods, "I thought as much. Would that include doing to me what you want to do to Pam?"

For the first time I'm genuinely surprised, "Excuse me?"

Candy smiles, "Oh, don't be so surprised, John, we're women. Girls. We talk." She licks her lips, slowly extending her tongue as it moistens both her upper and lower lips, making them glisten with saliva. "We talk about everything. You can't imagine that someone like Pam could be as attracted to someone like you and not share her feelings with her best friend, with her housemate, for too long ... could you?"

Her smile is making me harder by the minute, but I still have a class to get to, and then a report to write before any relief can be found.

"We'll discuss this later," I growl, smiling again as I wrap my arms around the young woman. I'm instantly rewarded by her pressing her luscious body against mine as she thrusts her hips, pressing her pelvis against mine while our lips lock, our tongues exploring each other's domains in a desperate exchange of fluids that barely lasted a few seconds yet seemed to go on for an eternity.

Looking at her flushed face after the kiss is broken I held her at arms-length for a second, "I'll answer your question about Pam, if you'd like ..."

She nods.

"If that's what you'd like ..." this is new territory, but the payoff could be bigger than I'd ever imagined. Before today I'd known that Pam would be moving into my spacious condo when she returned from the funeral, but now, all indications seemed to point to Candace—to Candy—also wanting the same thing. I watch her eyes as she nods. "Well then, my sweet, that's what it shall be ..." we kiss again, this time taking a moment to relish in the touch of each other as our hands explore the other's body. If you want me to do the same things to you that I'm going to do to Pam, if that's the kind of relationship you want, all you need to do is ask," I gaze directly into her eyes, searching for her answer.

"Yes," she whispers.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes ..." she repeats, "that's what I want."

That was all I needed to hear.

"I'll be back as soon as my class is finished, then, we'll get right to work," I promise, reluctantly stepping away from this hot creature. My hard-on feels as though it is nearly bursting out of my jeans, but isn't too obvious thanks to the tightness of the material. This is one of those times when I am truly envious of women: Candace—Candy—can simply return to her desk without any obvious signs of being overly stimulated while I must walk through the community center looking as though I just came back from having a surgical procedure on my lower back. I feel as though I'm walking like a hunchback, trying to conceal any evidence of my overt arousal, even though it probably isn't necessary.

This is patently unfair, but there are enough payoffs to being male that the occasional uncomfortable public erection isn't enough to make me want to become a woman. That still didn't make it easier for me to walk through the community center thinking about what would be waiting for me upon my return.

As usual, my class was full, and time seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace. One of my star students presented me with a new short story that was excellent, and we read it to the class. She wanted to know if I thought the story was good enough for her use as an entry in a competition she'd found in a fiction magazine and I said that I thought it was, which earned me a kiss on the cheek and a hug that had her pressing her soft breasts against my side for a bit longer than was necessary. Had this been any other day I might have allowed my thoughts to wander to what might have happened if we weren't in this setting, if Amanda wasn't only seventeen, wasn't from such a troubled background, and wasn't one of my students.

But that was not where my mind was: some lines just aren't meant to be crossed.

Besides, I shook my head, I knew where there was some fresh Candy waiting for me, and that was the only woman I was interested in, at least for today. Until Pam returned; then there would be two.

When I returned to the office Candy was still behind her desk and when she saw me she jumped up from her chair and rushed to me, closing and locking the door after I entered. "I'm so glad you're back," her voice was breathless with anticipation as our lips connected, searching out each other with unbridled passion.

As much as I wanted to have her, right then and there, I knew there was still some work to be done and I wanted that out of the way first. After a long, wet, probing kiss I reluctantly pushed myself away from her, "First, we work. Then," I put a finger under her chin, kissing her forehead as my other hand snaked down over her luscious ass, "we play."

She gulped, then nodded, "Yes," she whispered, moaning as my hand traced over the bulge of her buttocks.

"Yes ..." I repeated, smiling at her. "Yes, what?"

She looked confused for a second, then a grin spread across her face, a conversation she'd had with Pam coming to the surface, "Yes ... Master."

I nod. Good, I think to myself. This was going even better than I'd allowed myself to imagine. Pam had told me that Candy would be ripe for the picking, but I'd expected her to require far more effort than one short afternoon, far more than the promise of writing one report. I'd have to ask Pam about those conversations. It made me wonder about what women really talked about when they went to the bathroom together.

"Maestro," I say. "Master is a bit old-fashioned.

Her smile broadened, "Yes, Maestro. Your command is my wish."

This is too much. I reach around with both hands, pulling her forward until she is pressed tightly against me, her hips tilted against groin, "Keep that up and we'll never get any work done," I practically hiss into her mouth, kissing her deeply before my hands reluctantly push her away.

She nods, leading me to the other side of her desk where I sit in her chair and begin working on the report. Candy sits next to me, watching patiently as I work, adding an opinion every now and then to provide some much-needed context to what I'm writing. Being a writer is fine, so long as you know the material. I could write anything, based on the material Pam had provided in the files, but Candy knew things that weren't in those files, things that had to be worked into the final report. Fortunately, we discovered that we worked extremely well together. In less than three hours, and some heavy petting along the way, the report was done and sent to the members of the board.

As promised, Candy's ass had been saved.

We were even more turned on than we had been when we had started. We were also ready for dinner, so I decided to prolong our pleasure for just a bit longer.

If I've learned anything about pleasure in my life, it's that delayed gratification is one of the best ways to bring a greater payoff in the end. You can see this in the natural world: if you want a bigger bang from a volcano, delay the eruption. At this point, we were both smoldering. I may have been sitting next to what I wanted for dessert, but I could wait.

Candy lived only a short walk from the community center, so I drove her home and watched as she packed a small overnight bag to bring with her to my place for the weekend. Any of the clichés about women taking a long time to pack could have been thrown out the window for this incredible lady: she had that bag packed before I was able to finish relieving myself in her washroom. By the time I'd finished flushing the toilet she was coming out of her bedroom, the rolling bag behind her.

"All ready," her voice sang, her smile infectious.

I wanted to throw her onto the couch in the living room and take her right there, but I'd already made reservations at Chez Pierre's and, well, it just wouldn't do to show up at such a classy place smelling like a bunch of teenagers in heat.

Looking at her with unbridled lust in my eyes, I growled, "Dessert," my eyes wandered down to her legs, bare and smooth, then up, past the hem of her light dress.

Our eyes met again, and we saw the mutual hunger, "Yes," she whispered, spreading her stance as though opening herself to me.

Chez Pierre's was busy, as usual, but that was another advantage of success: last minute reservations were easy to get, especially if you knew both the owner and the hostess. It couldn't have hurt that I knew the hostess on a better than first name basis. Her name was Rebecca and she was an avid reader, and an extreme fiction fan. Writers don't often encounter groupies, but it does happen, and Rebecca was one of them. She was not the type of girl I wanted to spend my life with, but she had been a lot of fun, and she was understanding type. Rebecca believed in getting everything you could out of life. She knew what she had been getting into from the beginning and recognized that I wouldn't be slipping a ring on her finger.